


Rigel and Betelgeuse

by alpacasilk



Series: Sunflower Solstice [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel Wings, BAMF America (Hetalia), Biting, Bunnies, Caretaking, Character Development, Childhood Memories, Conversations, Dark Fantasy, Death Rituals, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fishing, Flower Crowns, Grocery Shopping, Gun Violence, Hand Feeding, Illusions, Insecurity, M/M, Master/Slave, Mental Breakdown, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Museums, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Slice of Life, Strawberries, Swimming, country life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29169348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacasilk/pseuds/alpacasilk
Summary: Ivan has become enamored with his angelic charge, but nothing is ever simple when it comes to affairs of the heart, or Alfred. Tensions arise as the former Light general attempts to negotiate his place in his master’s life, home, and bed.
Relationships: America & Finland (Hetalia), America & Poland (Hetalia), America/2P Russia, America/Russia (Hetalia), Lithuania/Poland (Hetalia)
Series: Sunflower Solstice [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048839
Comments: 95
Kudos: 122





	1. Case I

**Author's Note:**

> _The brightest stars in the Orion constellation._   
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month after the events of Orion Complex, Alfred and Ivan have settled into a domestic rhythm.

Draped in one of Ivan's nightshirts, Alfred cocked a hip as he contemplated his choices. He had rifled through the enormous armoire where his and Ivan's clothes were kept three times already, and still nothing stood out.

Ivan was in the bathroom; his morning routine tended to take a while. Alfred had plenty of time to pick out something. He blew a strand of hair out of his eyes and prepared to dig through the armoire again.

The Northern Territories were getting unbearably cold—it was supposed to be High Brumal soon, whatever that was—so Ivan had found a tailor to outfit Alfred for his winter wardrobe. The angel's light tunics had been fine back in Francis' sunny palace; they were comfy and allowed the guards easy access, but it was just Ivan here in the castle, and Ivan wanted Alfred to be warm.

The tailor that Ivan hired had been very Russian. No surprise there. Ivan himself was very Russian, from his taste in food to his sense of fatalism. He had mentioned spending a lot of time in the human country as a child. Come to think of it, Alfred should probably learn Russian at some point. Ivan spoke the language with Toris sometimes, and when giving commands to his men.

Alfred didn't like not knowing what was happening, so, yes—Russian. He put it on his mental to-do list, which was emptier than he usually liked it.

The clothes were delivered a week ago, mostly traditional folk shirts and military-style outfits. Ivan had insisted that they be stored in the same place as his own apparel, saying that it would be an impractical use of space otherwise, the armoire was half-empty anyway.

Yeah, right, as if Alfred hadn't seen the demon raise the sleeve of his military coat up to his nose every two seconds since the angel had started wearing his new attire. Alfred had snickered the first time that Ivan had done it—Ivan blushed—and then straddled Ivan's lap and sucked the air out of the demon's lungs until they were both breathless. Ivan was such a loser.

But then again, it wasn't like Alfred was much better. The angel brought a pale gold kosovorotka to his face. It smelled of pine, sugar plums, and snow, like Ivan's hugs, underneath the faint notes of apricot and cardamom. Ivan had told him that Alfred's scent was actually quite strong, but having lived with it for so long, Alfred had grown more or less desensitized.

The kosovorotka was soft and loose-fitting, with delicate embroidery along the collar and cuffs. It was a solid choice. The military jacket and slacks—cut to the Imperial Russian style— _really_ flattered Alfred's figure, though. When Alfred had tried them on, Ivan had looked ready to ravish him on the spot. It was just unfortunate that they were made of a stiff material that was better suited for the outside than indoors.

Be comfortable or look good? Decisions, decisions.

Alfred's gaze slid to the chest beside the armoire. Oh!

 _Perfect_.

* * *

Finished with his morning ablutions, Ivan left the bathroom, a towel around his hips.

Alfred was perched on the edge of the bed, winding a silver sash around his slim waist. The door clicked shut behind Ivan, and Alfred looked up.

"You're done!"

"Da." Ivan appreciatively eyed Alfred's ensemble—a kosovorotka and trousers tucked into heeled lace-up boots—as he headed to the armoire. The sash had given the tunic some shape, and the silver color brought out the blue of Alfred's eyes beautifully. Alfred looked very nice. Russian fashion suited him well, but most things did.

Ivan picked out a pair of slacks and a shirt to wear under his black regulation army coat. Being a general meant that selecting his outfit for the day was easy: the same uniform as always. He buttoned up the shirt and coat and pulled on his riding boots.

"What are your plans for today, dorogoy?" Ivan glanced into the mirror to see the angel.

Alfred crossed one leg over the other and started to preen his feathers.

"Nothing much. Eduard and I are researching how we're gonna use the energy from the Lava Golem's heart to heat up the castle. I was thinking a central furnace at first, but I want the floors to be heated, too, so we might end up going with a boiler system instead. What about you?"

"Meetings all morning. King Francis called yesterday about a case that he wanted me to look into. The case files should be arriving sometime in the afternoon. It is looking like a long day."

Alfred made a noise of sympathy. "I'll come get you for lunch. Picnic in the garden?"

"Da, that would be very nice. Thank you, Fedya." Ivan reached for a silk tie from the rack.

Alfred uncrossed his legs and stood up. He plucked it from the demon's hands, tied a half-Windsor knot, and adjusted the coat's lapels. He wound the tan scarf snugly around Ivan's neck. Leaning up slightly—the heeled boots gave him a few extra inches—Alfred pressed a kiss to a cold cheek, then pulled away with a disapproving tsk.

"You forgot to moisturize. _Again_."

Ivan at least had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry, lapochka."

"Stay here," Alfred ordered as he strode to the bathroom. In no time, he returned with two small jars. He unscrewed the lid off of one of them and gently dabbed the cream onto Ivan's pale cheeks.

"The weather is getting colder, so you need to pay more attention to this kind of stuff, or else your skin will dry out."

"Da, da."

Alfred swiped his thumb—covered in a thin layer of balm from the other jar—across Ivan's lips.

"There," Alfred settled back on his heels. "I'm not kissing chapped lips."

Ivan chuckled. "I must be going now, but I will see you later." He affectionately ruffled the angel's hair and left the bedroom.

"Have a good day, Vanya!" Alfred called after Ivan. Before the door closed, he saw the demon turn and smile.

Satisfied, Alfred plopped down in front of the vanity. He flipped open an eyeshadow palette.

It had been a month since the night Ivan had apologized, made Alfred putty in his huge hands, and given Alfred a damn good orgasm, in that order.

Alfred grinned as he recalled the events of the morning after.

_Alfred felt something wet on his face, but he wasn't the one crying, for a change. He shot up in Ivan's lap and put a concerned hand on the demon's cheek._

" _Ivan, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"_

" _No," Ivan muttered. "I'm fine." He buried his head in Alfred's shoulder. Alfred wrapped his arms around the other._

" _Did you not like it when I called you Vanya?"_

_Ivan shook his head._

" _So… you did like it?"_

_Another nod._

" _Do you want me to call you Vanya again?"_

_Ivan nodded aggressively._

" _Aww," Alfred cooed, "who knew that the Terror of the North was such a softie? You just want someone to call you nicknames and hug you, huh, big guy?"_

_A small, shy nod._

_The angel laughed. "I think we can make that happen."_

Ivan was definitely onto something with the nicknames and hugs—Alfred was coming to like them a lot, too. Ivan seemed to come up with a new nickname for him every week. It was endearingly sappy. Ivan's hugs were great, and he was generous with them.

Ivan always held Alfred as they went to sleep now, sometimes after sex, sometimes not.

The sex was much, _much_ better.

With a practiced hand, Alfred brushed a few strokes of silver eyeshadow across his lids. He wouldn't put on eyeliner today, and the lipstick was unnecessary—he didn't want to look _cheap_ —but the silver looked good. Alfred liked looking good for himself. If the silver happened to bring out his eyes in a way that made Ivan's pupils dilate a little, well, that was merely a pleasant bonus.

* * *

"Are you sure? The Lava Golem heart could power a furnace system without any trouble. The system would be easy to install, as well."

Eduard von Bock—the castle's Facilities Manager and the only one who understood Alfred's plight at not having access to a quantum computer—adjusted his glasses as he pored over the blueprints with the angel. Alfred was across from him, eyes fixed on the paper as he spoke.

"Really, Eduard, I think the hydronic heating system makes a lot of sense. If you look at the layout of the castle, there's already a pretty elaborate infrastructure in place for transporting water. We'll just need to check up on the water pipes, maybe install some more for the hot water—"

The door to the library opened.

"—and it'll be efficient if we clip the tubs to the underside of the floor, installing grooved panels in a place of this size would be a real hassle. We'd need a lot of polyethylene tubing, though, and aluminum clips. Could you put in an order today? It'll be great to start as soon as possible, this project could take a while."

Alfred looked up from the castle blueprints when there was no response.

"Eduard?"

The Facilities Manager wasn't paying attention; he was staring at something behind Alfred. The air chilled, and a heavy weight settled on Alfred's shoulders.

"Oh, hey, Vanya! Didn't notice you come in, big guy." Alfred's smile slipped off when he turned around and saw the demon. Alfred glanced at the clock—it was only four. Ivan had left work early to find Alfred.

He hadn't looked this unhappy during their picnic, so it was probably something to do with the case files that Francis sent over in the afternoon.

"Hey, Eduard, let's pick this up tomorrow, okay?"

Shuddering, Eduard nodded and hastily left the room. He honestly didn't know how Alfred remained so unaffected—his employer was _terrifying_ , and it looked like the Dark general was in one of his moods. People usually died when he was in one of his moods, and Eduard wanted to live, _thank you very much_.

When the library door closed, Alfred pushed aside the blueprints and hopped up onto the table so that he was eye-level with Ivan. He cupped the pale face in his hands.

"Vanya, baby, what's wrong?"

Ivan scowled, but remained silent.

Alfred studied the demon thoughtfully. Sometimes Ivan didn't want to talk when he was very frustrated or very upset, and didn't trust himself to speak calmly.

"Is it work stuff?"

Ivan nodded.

"Want a hug?"

Ivan nodded again, and Alfred drew his master into a summer-scented embrace.

* * *

Ivan had felt much better after the hug. He and Alfred were in the lounge now, and the golden blond was curled up in Ivan's lap, wings unfurled. Their tips quivered as Ivan slowly stroked the sleek feathers.

Alfred _adored_ attention, especially attention paid to his wings.

Ivan had discovered this serendipitous fact a few weeks ago. He had been reading some Tolstoy on the settee. Alfred was nestled into the armchair nearby, with Blini in his lap and an astrophysics book in his hands.

The demon was fifty pages into _Anna Karenina_ when he noticed Alfred sneaking peeks at him. The angel would turn a page, glance up briefly, then lower his eyes again.

"Fredka, do you need something?"

Alfred quickly shook his head.

Ivan returned to his book. Alfred made a little huffing sound, but didn't speak.

He only made it ten pages further before Alfred's periodic glaring and little huffs became too distracting. Ivan examined the angel over the top of his novel. Was Alfred bothered by something? He looked comfortable in the armchair with Blini, but…

"Would you like to sit with me, dorogoy?"

Alfred immediately snatched up the Persian—who meowed in protest—made his way over to the settee, and pressed himself against Ivan's front.

"Took you long enough," the blue-eyed blond grumbled as he tucked his head under Ivan's chin. He spread open his wings and fluffed up the gold-edged feathers.

"Fredka?"

"You only need one hand to flip the pages, right? Put the other one to use," Alfred demanded brattily.

Chuckling, Ivan had. Who could have guessed that the fearsome General Jones was so touch-starved?

Not that Ivan was complaining—he would never complain, not when Alfred was so warm and sweet and pliant in his arms, practically purring with pleasure under Ivan's ministrations. Alfred's presence soothed him in a way that no one else's ever had.

Silently, Ivan sent his gratitude to King Francis and the gods above for the divine gift, and brought the angel closer.

"How is your research going, Fredka?"

"Oh, we're going to go with a boiler system. I told Eduard to put in an order for materials." Alfred leaned his head back on Ivan's shoulder. Ivan was calm enough to speak now, that was good. "What about you?"

Ivan sighed. "Work is a mess," he mumbled into Alfred's hair. "The case files arrived a few hours ago. The situation is worse than I expected. Trouble along the western borders. A rash of mysterious deaths. The king is very concerned."

Alfred hummed. News of casualties—civilian casualties, in particular—always got the other general down. Ivan was kind of weirdly philosophical when it came to mortality, and unnecessary deaths tended to drive him into a strange headspace that Alfred usually had to drag him out of.

Today was one of those days. He was better, now, after Alfred had let Ivan pet his wings, but still clearly troubled.

"Do you want a massage, Vanya?"

"Please," Ivan said, almost whimpering. Alfred climbed off of Ivan's lap and helped him take off his coat. The platinum blond laid across the settee.

The angel ran his fingers along Ivan's back.

"Wow," Alfred whistled lowly, "you are _tense_. I can work out a few of the knots right now and give you another massage later tonight, with some of the self-heating oil from Francis."

"That sounds very nice, Fredka. Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, no worries, big guy." With a crack of his knuckles, Alfred got to work.

* * *

Ivan's breathing was soft and even by the time that Alfred finished.

"Vanya?"

Silence. Hm, Ivan must have been really worn out. Alfred tugged Ivan's coat over him and, settling into the settee, carefully lifted Ivan's head into his lap.


	2. Case II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan divulges more details about the case. Prompted by a conversation with Feliks, Alfred begins to wonder about his relationship with Ivan.

Ivan awoke from his nap with a start. When he saw where he was, he relaxed immediately.

"Was I out for long?" The demon sat up. Outside, night was overtaking the sky.

"Hm?" Alfred closed his book and looked to the mantel clock. "Only a couple hours. It's almost dinnertime. Toris should be by soon." He reached for the lamp and turned it on.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. A moment later, the Head Housekeeper entered, bearing a laden tray.

He smiled at the pair. "Master Braginsky, Alfred, I have your meals here."

* * *

"So, what's the deal with the case?" Alfred was idly spinning a knife on a plate.

"The situation is terrible." Ivan folded up the napkin in his lap. "A combination of murders and suicides. About ten demons have died over the course of three days."

Alfred's eyes widened. "That sounds pretty serious."

"Da. The incidents have all taken place in a village a few hours from here. It's in the territory that I oversee, very close to Ludwig's territory. He said that nothing like it has occurred in any of his villages yet, however."

Alfred looked intrigued. "Who were the victims? Any factors in common?"

"The youngest victim was six. He was killed by his mother, who then committed suicide."

" _Gods_ , that's awful."

Ivan nodded grimly. "The oldest was a grandmother who died at the hands of her son. Same family—he was the boy's father. When the father was apprehended, he was babbling incoherently. Completely insane."

"Huh. No one in the family survived besides the father?"

"Nyet. And there were two apparently unrelated suicides. Both single young adults, neither of whom had shown any suicidal ideation before. Four other murders." Ivan sighed. "A demon killed his friend, then fled the scene of the crime. No one has been able to find the suspect. The second murder was a father who killed his daughter. He also went insane shortly afterwards. The third, a young woman who killed her fiancé. She drowned herself in a stream. The final death was somewhat of an anomaly—an older man who didn't have a family of his own, but was fairly close to his nieces and nephews. He was shot in the woods."

"Yikes," Alfred grimaced. "No wonder you were so down today. Besides the family, there were no connections between any of the victims?"

"Nyet."

"Any motives?"

"None that the detectives have been able to discover. All of the demons seemed fairly content with their lives."

Ivan's shoulders slumped. He put down his fork.

Alfred stopped playing with the knife. Ivan looked absolutely _exhausted_. There was still some food left on his plate, and Ivan didn't like being wasteful.

"Come here, Vanya." The angel tugged Ivan out of the chair and into the bedroom, undressing the demon as he went. He gently pushed Ivan face-down on the bed and grabbed the warming oil.

"All right, big guy. Close your eyes and let me work my magic," Alfred murmured as he began to massage the Dark general's stiff shoulders.

Ivan groaned at the sensation. Before long, his shoulders were loose and his mind hazy. Under Alfred's talented hands, he quickly sank into a deep sleep.

When Alfred was done, he turned Ivan onto his side, and, smiling, squeezed into the space between the cool, strong arms. Ivan made for a very nice teddy bear.

* * *

Ivan was gone when Alfred woke up, but there was a plate of strawberries on the nightstand, and a note.

"Thank you for the massage," the note read. "I feel much better today."

Alfred chuckled and tucked it into the second drawer of the nightstand, where it joined all the other notes that Ivan had left him.

He munched into a strawberry and almost cried with joy. It was _so good_. Ivan had eventually seen the light and gotten Alfred his greenhouse; the first crop of strawberries from there must have been ready this morning.

Day immeasurably improved, Alfred settled back into the bed to fully enjoy the rest of the fruit.

* * *

Alfred had caught Toris during the brunet's mid-morning tea break—one of the rare moments when he wasn't busy. Toris was at a small table in the kitchen; beside him, Feliks was flipping through a fashion catalog.

"Hey, guys!"

Toris smiled at him—"Hello, Alfred"—"Hi, Al!"—and gestured to the empty seat across as Feliks set down his magazine.

"Dude," Feliks groused. "You would, like, not _believe_ the kind of stuff the demons call 'fashion' this season. It's at least three decades behind the latest trends in Heaven."

Toris rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Alfred glanced at the cover of the magazine. It was in Russian, and featured a female demon dressed in an elaborate, shapeless dress with fur trim. Wow, he thought. That was truly hideous.

"Yeah, try at least two centuries. I think it's a Northern thing—the maids at Francis' palace always knew what was up."

"Ugh, whatever. I'm just excited for spring, I've got these _fabulous_ skirts that need showing off. If I wear them now, I'd lose everything below the knee to frostbite."

Feliks seemed so excited, Alfred didn't have the heart to tell the other angel that he'd be waiting quite a while until he could show off his spring wardrobe. Winter lasted for nine months in the Northern Territories. Alfred didn't even know which month they were on anymore.

"So, uh, how are you and Toris doing?"

"Great! We're married," Feliks said at the same time that Toris said, "We're dating."

Alfred looked at them. "What?"

Feliks waved a hand. "Semantics. Toris and I are, like, in a committed relationship with an ongoing dating phase that will culminate in a spring wedding with ponies. You're totally invited, Al."

"Thanks! I'm sure it'll be awesome." The angels laughed, and Toris put down his teacup.

The Head Housekeeper slowly backed away from the table.

"I just remembered that I have a lot of work to finish. Important, last-minute work that I cannot specify." He all but fled the kitchen. Feliks had a tendency to _ramble_ when he got bored—as did Alfred—and Toris was _not_ waiting around for any talk of honeymoons to came up.

Like Feliks, Alfred was very… open when it came to certain subjects. The last time that Toris had accidentally stayed through too much of one of the angels' gossip sessions, he hadn't been able to look Master Braginsky in the eye for days. Still couldn't, actually.

Neither blond noticed Toris' departure.

"Hey, so, like, has Ivan told you what you are yet?"

Alfred cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"Like, if you're his concubine or pet or bedwarmer or whatever."

"No, he's never really brought it up."

Feliks gasped. "Alfred, you have to, like, figure this out now! It's super important!"

A crease appeared on the former general's brow. "Really?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely, duh! High-ranking demons like Ivan don't do marriages, so they're, like, super hierarchical and stuff with their companions."

"They are? I mean, I know that I was a pleasure slave at Francis' palace, but I don't think I'm one here."

"Oh my gosh, Al, you _totally_ have to listen to me right now, then. The other Bunnies and I used to, like, discuss this kind of stuff all the time."

"Bunnies?"

"Uh-huh, you know, the other sweethearts at the brothel where I was. We kept tabs on all the Bunnies who left, but they also knew about some of their friends, and their friends knew about _their_ friends, and—"

"I get the idea, Feliks."

"Right, okay, so, like, at the very bottom of the tier are fucktoys and bedwarmers, and then above them are pets, and above _those_ are concubines, and then above concubines are, like, the girls and boys in the harems. And then there are the consorts, but like, Arthur is the only angel I've heard of being someone's consort. It's not that it's a royal thing—any high-ranking demon can have a consort. It's just super rare, because consorts are basically equal to their demon masters in status and stuff. Not a lot of demons want a companion who's their equal, especially one who was on the other side of the war. Actually, now that I think about it, it might only be Francis.

"The pleasure slave situation is like, a whole separate thing, kind of like the brothel workers, because technically you don't belong to one person. It doesn't, like, matter to you now, though, because you're Ivan's, right? And he doesn't like to share."

Alfred nodded.

"Sooo, Alfred," Feliks leaned forward, leering, "what exactly do you and Ivan do?"

"Um, he leaves me on my own a lot of the time, but when he's done with work he likes it when I give him massages and let him touch my wings. Well, I guess that I like it when he touches my wings, so he does it. We have meals together and play video games. And we have a lot of great sex!"

Feliks sat back with a thoughtful expression. "So it sounds like you're definitely in either the concubine tier or the harem tier. Does Ivan have a harem?"

"Not that I know of."

"Okay, so, like, to be fair, I guess harems are more of an Eastern thing. There's apparently a demon who has a _massive_ harem and everyone's, like, super catty there. Mostly because one of the boys in his harem apparently really, _really_ likes cats. _Al_ ," Feliks whined. "You have to bring Blini more often."

"Blini is her own mistress, Feliks. I have no idea what she's up to most of the time." Come to think of it, Alfred hadn't seen Blini in a few days. He hoped she was okay.

"Hmph, can a pet, like, even own herself?"

Feliks suddenly snapped his fingers.

"I've figured it out, Alfred! Gods, I'm _such_ a genius, I totally can't believe it. It's sooo clear now, Al. You, like, _are_ Ivan's harem."

"I am?"

"Yes! Either that, or, like, he has a secret harem full of super sexy angels who aren't you."

Alfred made a face. "I hope not. How did you even have the time to talk about all of this with the Bunnies, Feliks?"

"We had, like, Ice Cream and Kiki Parties every Sunday afternoon at the brothel."

"But angels can't eat anything except for fruit in the Underworld!"

"Bitch, I froze half a grapefruit and scooped it out with a spoon."

Alfred stared at Feliks. Feliks stared back.

"Gods, it sucks here."

* * *

"Any updates on the materials for the hydronic heating system, Eduard?" Alfred had just finished showing his appreciation for the greenhouse and delicious strawberries with a lot of tongue, and, yeah, Ivan would definitely be remembering today's lunch fondly.

The Facilities Manager turned from his computer, shaking his head. "I placed the order this morning. They haven't given me a shipping date yet. It might take a couple weeks. It was a pretty large order."

"Cool, thanks, dude! In the meantime, maybe we can work on reception? It sucks here. Or getting WiFi in every room?" The angel peered at Eduard hopefully.

"I admire your enthusiasm, but one project at a time, Alfred. I can't keep track of all the materials and shipments otherwise."

Alfred pouted. "Fine. Any chance of getting expedited shipping, then?"

"Unfortunately, it's not in the budget."

" _Ugh_."

* * *

"Blini! Babe, there you are!"

Meow. _Servant, you never fail to disrupt my naps_.

"I love you, too, girl! Let's hang out in the gardens."

Blini yowled as she was manhandled from her sunny spot on the ledge of the bay windows— _This is an overstepping of bounds_. _I hereby revoke all tummy-touching privileges for a week—_ and hissed when Alfred plopped her down under the sunflowers a few minutes later.

"How's it going, sweetheart?" Alfred asked as he stroked the scarf-shaped patch of fur around her neck.

Meow. _Much better before you arrived_.

"Aw, you also brighten up my day! You're so cute, Blini. And so fluffy." The Persian purred as Alfred's fingers moved to behind her ears.

"Hey, Blini," Alfred said quietly after petting the cat in silence for a while, "do you think I'm to Ivan what you are to me? A pet?"

Blini lazily cracked open an eye. Meow. _Servant, I hold far more power in this castle than you ever will. Shut up and focus on your duties. The spot under my chin demands attention._

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, you're right. I'm probably way more to Ivan at this point."

Blini did not even bother to dignify that with a response.

* * *

When Alfred returned to the master suite, Ivan was already there. The demon was sitting at the small table with a half-full tumbler of vodka.

Alfred scowled. "Ivan, you _know_ I don't like it when you drink that stuff," he scolded.

Ivan grunted.

The golden blond clambered onto Ivan's chair and, pressing close, spread his wings.

"Don't drink any more. Give me attention."

Confronted with a lapful of insistent angel, Ivan really had very few options.

"…Okay, Fredka."

Alfred smiled at him and cuddled closer.

Obediently, Ivan sank his fingers into the velvety down on the underside of the wings. Alfred's primaries—especially the ones at the tips of his wings—were very sensitive, and he didn't like them being touched. Stroking anything after the middle converts, between the bend of the wing and the base, though, would have Alfred sighing happily, so Ivan did. The angel's flight feathers quivered a little in pleasure.

When Ivan moved his hands to the base of the wings, at the downy spot where they merged into the angel's back, Alfred positively _melted_. His wings began to gently undulate—a hypnotic sight—and Alfred made a little noise like a dove's coo. A low rumble started to build in his chest.

He was very similar to a purring Blini, Ivan mused.

Alfred's wings were fascinating, soft to the touch but hard with muscles that felt like steel underneath the feathers. Not unlike Alfred himself, who—behind the sweet smiles and pretty blue eyes and supple golden skin and affectionate gestures—possessed some of the most lethal magic in all the realms.

But that dangerous power was contained by the enchanted bands, and Alfred was adorable when he purred. He seemed content, so Ivan was perplexed when the angel folded his wings and pulled away.

"Hey, Vanya." Alfred nibbled at his lower lip.

"Da?"

"Do you have a secret harem of super sexy angels who aren't me?" He didn't think that Ivan did—Ivan spent a lot of time with him at night—but it was best to make sure.

The other general looked amused. "No, of course not." He stood up with Alfred in his arms and moved to the settee. "Where did this come from all of a sudden, Fedya?"

"Feliks was telling me today about a demon in the East who keeps a really big harem."

Ivan hummed. "Yes, I believe I have heard of him. But why are you thinking of this now? I only have you." He caressed Alfred's wings.

A thought struck the platinum blond. "Are you lonely, lapochka?" Ivan asked, worried. "I can get you some more angel friends to keep you company, if you'd like."

"No, that's all right," Alfred shook his head. "Feliks is great, and I'm happy with Blini and you and Toris and Eduard and my books and projects."

Ivan frowned and tilted the angel's head up. "Am I tiring you out, then? Do you wish for me to take on another companion so you can have more time to rest?"

Alfred's eyes widened. "No! Nothing like that." He pressed up against the broad chest. "I like being the only one in your bed, master," he murmured shyly, before looking up into amethyst eyes with a cheeky grin. "And I can _definitely_ take whatever you dish out."

He paused.

"Dish… Food… Vanya, I know that you're kind of busy right now, but can you get me and Feliks ice cream from the human world sometime? Coffee? Or salted caramel. I think Feliks likes butter pecan."

Ivan chuckled and wrapped his arms around Alfred. "Of course, dorogoy." The demon briefly luxuriated in Alfred's warmth; he was like a little furnace.

"Fredka, I will be heading out tomorrow."

"Hm? For what?"

"The deaths that I told you about last night—I have to go investigate. Another death occurred last night. A young girl. Again, suicide. Her parents are distraught."

"Oh! Can I go with you?"

Ivan hesitated. "I don't want to put you in danger."

Alfred laughed. "I'll be okay. I've definitely seen worse."

The demon still looked uncertain. "I don't know, lapochka…"

"Please, Vanya?" Alfred pleaded. "I'm so bored in the castle, and I can't work on my project because the parts won't be delivered for weeks."

His sapphire eyes lit up. "I'll bribe you with really good sex," he teased, grinding on Ivan's lap.

Ah, well, Ivan couldn't turn _that_ down. He would keep Alfred close to him, and if his sword wasn't enough, his ice magic would likely be able to handle whatever was causing the deaths.

"All right, you may accompany me, but you need to be careful—"

The rest of Ivan's sentence was cut off when Alfred excitedly dragged him down into a kiss.


	3. Case III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Ivan discover the cause of the mysterious deaths.

"Vanya," Alfred sang, "time to wake up!"

The demon didn't so much as stir. Fully dressed and primped up with eyeshadow and eyeliner, Alfred huffed. Time was a-tickin'; it was already nine. If they left any later, it would be too dark to do any investigating when they arrived at the village, and that just wouldn't do.

Ivan was still sleeping soundly.

This called for drastic measures.

The golden blond barreled into the bed and flung himself on top of his master. Ivan let out an _oomph_ as the air was abruptly knocked out of him.

"Vanya Vanya Vanya—"

Now wide awake, Ivan clapped a hand over the angel's mouth.

"Alfred," the Dark general hissed. "Enough. I'm up."

Alfred shook the hand off—his cowlick bounced—and beamed at him, dimpling. His brilliant blue eyes sparkled in the morning light.

Ivan's anger at having been so rudely awakened instantly dissipated. Ah, but Alfred looked lovely today. The gold-accented navy military jacket and slacks fitted him perfectly, and his fine features were lit up in excitement. He was gorgeous, so radiant as to put the sun to shame.

Smiling in return, Ivan tenderly caressed the angel's cheek. "I see that you are all ready to go, sunflower."

Alfred crinkled his nose. "Sunflower?"

"Da, you are bright and cheerful like one."

"Mhm. I think that's the corniest one yet, Vanya." The corners of Alfred's lips quirked upwards again, and he brushed away non-existent lint from an epaulet. "Well, your sunflower needs to go on a fun adventure, stat, or he's gonna wilt."

"This is not a fun adventure, dorogoy," Ivan sighed. "Eleven demons have died. This could be very dangerous."

" _I'll_ die if I'm stuck in this stuffy castle for another second. Do you want a twelfth death, Ivan? I haven't been in action in so long. We'll take care of the problem and be heroes! It'll be great." Alfred pecked the platinum blond on the nose. "Come on, sleepyhead! Toris already came by with breakfast. The blini will get cold if you don't hurry up."

Shaking his head—the angel truly was incorrigible—Ivan got up from the bed at last.

* * *

After a quick breakfast, Ivan and Alfred headed for the stables. Ivan's sword was sheathed at his side; Alfred's Light-forged blade was concealed under the angel's rabbit fur cloak. Ivan had hesitated briefly as he retrieved it from the chest, but he didn't want Alfred to be defenseless in case something happened.

Alfred had promised that he wouldn't try to escape again. Ivan had one hand firmly planted on the hilt of his own weapon, nevertheless. His pipe was tucked in his coat, ready to be pulled out at a moment's notice. It wasn't that he didn't trust Alfred, but…

"Tony!" The angel cheered as Raivis brought out their steeds. There was a sizable lump on the side of the stable boy's head, as if he had been viciously kicked by something with hooves.

Ivan grimaced. Tony was a complete _jackass_ to anyone who wasn't Alfred. The white pegasus had apparently grown very attached following the Manticore incident. He refused to let anyone else ride him, so Ivan had given Tony to Alfred. There was no sense in unnecessary injuries. Besides, Alfred had been delighted.

The stallion whinnied happily as his owner collected the reins. Raivis visibly shuddered in relief.

The Dark general mounted Ladya. Berwald and the rest of the small troop that Ivan had hand-picked for the investigation were waiting for them near the barracks.

Already in his saddle, Alfred walked Tony a few steps back so that they were alongside the other pegasus and her rider.

"Hey, Vanya."

"Hm?" Ivan turned to see a broad grin plastered on the angel's face. Alfred reached a hand over to the black mare, cerulean eyes brimming with mischief.

"Fredka, what are you—"

" _Yee-haw!"_ The golden blond loudly cracked Ladya's reins at the same time that he dug his heels into Tony's sides.

Startled, the steeds shot off.

" _Alfred!"_

* * *

Berwald stared as his commanding officer and Jones came into sight. Ivan was breathless with laughter, and the former Light general was cackling.

"Alfred, you can't—it's not good for the pegasi—"

"You need to live a little, dude! You're always so stiff. Honestly, you're just like an old man—"

The soldiers started to mutter amongst themselves. Berwald silenced them with a glare.

It was only so effective. "What the _fuck_ ," a demon whispered as Ivan gave the chortling angel a look that could only be described as one of utter adoration. Berwald was inclined to agree. He had no idea what was going on between Ivan and Jones—it wasn't hate, that was for sure. Regardless, speculating about the general's personal life was above his pay grade.

Not his place, the second-in-command thought, unless Ivan's safety was on the line. Although Ivan might have forgotten what his captive was capable of, Berwald certainly hadn't. He didn't trust Jones as far as he could throw him.

Berwald eyed the men behind him, a group of Ivan's best, all armed with swords and rifles, all excellent sharpshooters who would fire without fail at his command.

He'd tolerate Jones tagging along on the mission—Ivan had been adamant, despite Berwald's reservations—but he wouldn't let his guard down.

* * *

Propped up against Tony's flank, Alfred preened his feathers in the falling dusk. The journey to the village had taken up most of the day. They had stopped for a break a few hours ago, and Ivan had allowed Alfred to fly a little as the pegasi rested and fed.

Under his wings, the wind had felt _divine_. It had been far too long since he was that high up in the sky.

That must be why the air around him seemed heavier than usual.

Alfred heard a clatter of hooves and Ivan's voice. Oh, Ivan and Berwald had returned from their meeting with the detectives. He shoved the sense of unease out of his mind—there was something a bit _off_ about the weight of the air on his feathers, in his lungs.

It was probably just in his mind.

The rest of the troop moved forward to meet the commanders. Alfred swung himself up into the saddle, and Tony trotted along with the other steeds.

Ivan guided Ladya to Alfred's side.

"Fredka, did you hear what I just said?"

"Hm?" Alfred glanced at Ivan. "Sorry, no, didn't catch it."

"Tonight, we will be camping in the forest where the most recent death occurred."

 _What?_ Alfred shivered. "W-will there be g-g-ghosts?"

"Ghosts?"

"The victim killed herself, right? What if her ghost is still there?"

Ivan chuckled. "Don't worry, lapochka. I won't let the scary ghosts get you."

Alfred pouted at him. "Don't make fun of me, Vanya. It's a legitimate concern. My sword doesn't work against ghosts."

"No, of course not." Ivan gently rested his hand on the crown of the angel's head. "I'll protect you. I do not think that there will be ghosts, though."

Alfred leaned into the touch. "Mm, if you say so."

* * *

Ivan had _said_ that there wouldn't be ghosts, but Alfred was getting more and more skeptical by the minute.

He was pressed into Ivan's side on the cot, and Ivan's arms were wrapped snugly around his waist. Dinner had been simple—a stew prepared by some of the villagers for the soldiers; a few apples for Alfred—and everyone turned in early for the night shortly afterwards. Tomorrow, Ivan had announced, they would wake up early to conduct a more thorough investigation.

Ivan didn't seem to be bothered by the unsettling oppressiveness in the air at all, Alfred mused, listening to the steady rumbling of the demon's breath. He had fallen fast asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Alfred envied him. He shifted in Ivan's embrace and closed his eyes. The noises outside the tent were getting fainter in the late hours. There had been the chirp of crickets earlier, the hushed voices of Ivan's men, an occasional clank of armor, the crackle of the campfire outside.

…But the crackle of the flame shouldn't be this quiet. Soldiers had been assigned to keep watch and tend to the blaze all evening.

Alfred sniffed for the scent of burning wood. He could only detect Ivan's crisp, sweet smell, and, underneath it, a peculiar hint of rot.

How low was the fire? He wasn't _that_ far from it. He should have been able to smell it from here.

Alfred squirmed out of Ivan's arms and squinted at the flap that led outside of the tent, but there was only darkness outside. The campfire was dim. Was it completely dead? It couldn't be.

The camp shouldn't be this silent. Soldiers were a noisy bunch. Back when he was general, the rambunctious chatter of his men had lasted long through the night. Even if Ivan's troop had been told to keep a low profile, Alfred should at least be able to hear the usual sounds of rest: snores, exhales, soft dream-speech. Instead, all he could hear was Ivan.

Something was wrong.

Alfred drew a sharp intake of breath—the air settled too heavily in his lungs. The strange miasma from before was definitely stronger. He wasn't imagining it, he couldn't be.

This was bad.

"Ivan, get up." Alfred shook the demon's shoulder.

Ivan blearily blinked his eyes open.

"Fredka? Why are you still awake?" His speech was slurred by sleep.

"It's too quiet out there."

Ivan groaned. "Just go to sleep, Alfred. I'm sure it's nothing."

"No, I think the fire's out."

Ivan sat up.

"What?" He demanded.

Alfred shushed him. "Not so loud. Come on, get up." He slid off of the cot and grabbed his shining sword, then handed Ivan's sword to him.

The pair crept out of the tent. Outside, the camp was completely still.

The miasma was so thick in the clearing that it felt as if Alfred were wading through molasses. Scowling, he left to check in on the demons in the other tents.

Ivan didn't notice. His attention was fixed on the prone forms of the guards around the extinguished fire. Thin tendrils of smoke drifted from the embers.

Ivan crossed over to them and roughly jostled one of guards; he was unresponsive. Ivan peeled back the soldier's eyelid and cursed under his breath.

"They're all unconscious," Alfred said, returning from his round.

"They're in an enchanted sleep." Ivan murmured, thoughtful. "But why aren't we?"

Alfred shrugged. "It's possible that the miasma affects Light beings differently, and I stuck close to you all night."

"Miasma?"

The angel's eyes widened. "You don't feel it? It's suffocating." When Ivan didn't answer, Alfred waved a hand in front of the Dark general's face. "Vanya?"

The amethyst eyes were unfocused, glazed over.

Alfred hissed in dismay. He was about to snap Ivan out of whatever daze the demon was in, when he caught a sudden movement—a thin, whiplike shadow—behind Ivan's shoulder. Without thinking, Alfred drew his sword and slashed; two halves of a snake fell to the ground with a gush of blood.

 _Miasma, demons in an enchanted sleep, a snake_ …

Alfred realized the cause of the recent deaths with a start.

"What just happened?" Ivan clutched at his head. He blinked when he saw the bleeding snake at his feet.

"There's a Nightmare Basilisk," Alfred said lowly. "That's what's behind the suicides and murders in this village."

At Ivan's blank stare, Alfred elaborated. "It puts demons to sleep with miasma and lures other snakes nearby to subdue its prey until it can coil around and constrict the victim. It won't kill straightaway, but it will devour the suffering of its victims until they're driven into madness.

"You can't look at it, okay, Ivan? It's covered with eyes all over, and even a glimpse of one of them will be enough to trap you in a fatal illusion."

Ivan worried at the ends of his scarf. "How am I supposed to fight if I can't look at it?"

"I can kill it, but you'll need to take my bracelets off."

"Alfred…" The platinum blond bit his lip. When Alfred had implored him to be allowed to fly earlier that day, Ivan hadn't been able to refuse the pretty blond. He had immediately regretted the decision. The only thing that stopped him from rescinding his permission was the knowledge that Alfred wouldn't try to escape when his powers were suppressed. Still, every second had stretched on like an eternity as he waited for the angel to descend.

Alfred smiled tightly at him, as if he had read Ivan's mind. "It's not the bracelets that keep me from running away, babe." The former Light general clutched his sword when the sound of slithering scales grew louder. "Vanya, please. It'll be here soon. I don't want you to be hurt." Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred saw another snake lunging towards them and swung his blade.

Hands shaking, Ivan tapped the enchanted bands on the angel's wrists. Alfred impaled his sword into the ground so that the demon could slip them off.

The moment that Ivan had the golden cuffs in his fingers, Alfred began to glow, illuminating the clearing. His pupils flickered for a second, then colored a pure white.

Ivan gasped; Alfred whirled around. In the bright light, a dark mass of coils rose up from the harsh shadows on the forest floor—writhing, enormous.

"Close your eyes, Ivan! I'll take care of it." He snatched up his sword again.

Eyes shut, Ivan listened to Alfred's footsteps as the angel hurried away; the soft swoosh of Alfred's rabbit fur cloak falling to the ground; the faint flapping of Alfred's wings as he took to the skies.

* * *

Alfred had closed his eyes just as the Nightmare Basilisk opened its own; he could tell by the sudden strong wave of miasma that swept over the surrounding area, the energy so potent that it made him nauseous.

His wings brushed against leaves. Alfred heard the vicious snapping of jaws near his right and swerved to the left. A sharp pain traveled down from the edge of his wing as fangs closed around and plucked out a handful of feathers.

The angel gritted his teeth and soared higher, until he could only feel the chilly night wind. It was hard to evade when he couldn't see, but he had more than just his vision to locate the beast.

Alfred unleashed a burst of Light magic. The ripples of celestial power spread through the clearing, bouncing back whenever they hit an inanimate object. The Dark beings were unmissable—their auras absorbed the Light magic. Alfred could sense Ivan and his men, and, too close for comfort, a massive undulating spiral.

 _Found you_.

The former general raised a hand upwards to the heavens and conjured his trusty firearms. Twenty seemed like a good number. Behind his eyelids, the forest lit up as the shining guns materialized one by one, ringing around the Nightmare Basilisk.

Before it could slither away, Alfred brought his hand down to point directly at his target. The guns spun to follow his aim.

" _Fire!"_ Alfred called. The crack of gunshots thundered in the evening; the forest echoed with the wet thud of bullets finding flesh.

Below, he could hear the demons rustling as they started to stir from enchanted sleep. The miasma faded.

Alfred smirked. He never missed.

He landed near the fallen viper and opened his eyes. It was riddled with bullets, bleeding from numerous wounds. Each eye was a closed slit.

Alfred preened a little in satisfaction. "All clear!"

He raised his sword, ready to decapitate the Basilisk, when a bloodshot eye flew open. Alfred stared into the vertical elliptical pupil.

The arc of his sword halted for a millisecond as he brought it down. As its life fled, the monster gave one final twitch.

* * *

Ivan had heard Alfred's shout. He opened his eyes to see Alfred sever the Nightmare Basilisk's head from its body. Under the brilliant glow of the summoned submachine guns, the scene looked otherworldly, surreal.

Ivan repressed a shiver. He remembered those firearms on the battlefield, an endless row, gleaming even against the blinding white of the tundra. But some things were different: there were fewer now than back then—Alfred must have learned some restraint. And there was something familiar about the weapons' appearance…

The Dark general laughed quietly. _Of course_ Alfred would conjure the guns that he liked best from Call of Duty.

Smiling, he walked over to the angel. "Well done, Alfred."

Alfred turned away from the carcass. He blinked at Ivan, then cocked his head, as if listening to something.

Ivan slowed down.

"Alfred?" He asked uncertainly. Alfred's gaze was unfocused. As he faced Ivan, the demon saw hurt fracture in the glazed sapphire eyes before they crystallized into shards of ice, cold and hard.

Alfred raised his hand into the air and deliberately brought it down at Ivan. The barrel of every firearm swiveled.

Ivan froze.

"Not a step closer, Braginsky," Alfred snarled. "Or I'll blow you to dust."


	4. Case IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred does not have A Good Time.

The Nightmare Basilisk's jaws hinged open as its head separated from its body under the gleaming sword. Alfred could have sworn that he heard the sound of hissing laughter as the forked tongue flicked one last time. Probably just a trick of the mind—the life had drained rapidly from the viper. Alfred doubted that it had the strength to conjure an actual illusion.

The former general stepped away from the tar-like blood pooling in the grass.

"Well done, Alfred. And here I was thinking that the only thing you were good for was a quick fuck."

The angel turned; Ivan was walking towards him. There was a hideous smirk on his pale face.

... _What?_ Alfred blinked in confusion. It had been more than a month since the night that Ivan had apologized and treated him as actual person, rather than a mere object to be used. He thought that he was more than that to Ivan at this point...?

"Oh, no." Ivan gasped, as if he had heard Alfred's thoughts. "Did you _honestly_ believe that you were more than a bed slave, Alfred?" A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "No, no, Fredka," the demon said, sounding like he had heard a great joke. "You're just a convenient fucktoy to get me off."

Alfred stiffened. Had he misinterpreted Ivan's touches and glances, the gentle way that he petted Alfred's wings and cradled him after sex? The nicknames and hugs…

"Mean nothing!" Ivan laughed. "The nicknames are fun, are they not? Do you like how they make you feel special, _sunflower_? I only hold you because you're so pathetic and clingy. You bend over so eagerly whenever you receive even an ounce of attention. I guess I shouldn't be surprised—you've always been easy. The second that you're too used up as a cockwarmer, I'll toss you to my men. And when they get tired of your worthless slutty ass, you'll go straight to Tartarus. I'm sure that the _lovely_ residents there wouldn't mind having you, no matter how loose and worn out you are."

Alfred swallowed imperceptibly. So the pretty words that Ivan had whispered into his marked skin and pleasure-loosened limbs had meant nothing, were only lies. What happened beyond the sex hadn't mattered: it was just sex. Had always been just sex.

The hurt lodged in Alfred's chest and stubbornly refused to budge.

…Unless this was a hallucination from the Basilisk? He remembered staring into the black pupil before swinging his sword down.

But the monster had been dying; there was no way it had a reserve of Dark magic left to draw on to create an illusion like this.

Besides, what Ivan said made sense: here in the Underworld, he was just a spoil of war, Francis' gift to Ivan, a bed slave for fulfilling Ivan's needs.

He should have seen this coming.

Gods, Alfred was so _stupid_.

He hadn't _wanted_ to be a harlot in Francis' palace, hadn't wanted to open his legs for the demons who took their grunting pleasure from him, but he endured it because he had no choice back then. Francis had never allowed his enchanted cuffs to be removed.

Ivan was a few strides away, that damned smirk still stretched across his face.

"Come to your master like a good little whore."

…The bracelets were off. Alfred had his magic back; he could make his own choice, now.

"Not a step closer, Braginsky," Alfred warned as he trained his firearms on Ivan. "Or I'll blow you to dust."

* * *

"Ready and aim," Berwald ordered, loudly enough for Ivan to hear. The soldiers around him raised their rifles. At Ivan's signal, and they'd take down the angel. There was no barrier around Jones at the moment. The troop would need to shoot soon, before he summoned one.

The tall demon signaled.

Berwald's jaw dropped as Ivan, without turning, waved his hand for his men to lower their guns.

"Sir…" One of them started.

Gritting his teeth, Berwald nodded his assent. "As the general commands."

The soldiers obeyed.

Just what sort of fucked-up game was Ivan playing with his captive? Jones was notorious for his itchy trigger finger. Ivan knew that better than anyone.

Regardless, Ivan had issued a direct order. No one dared to go against a direct order from General Braginsky—the gruesome reminder of the last fool who had done so remained on the barrack walls, a bloody smear. His skull had been caved in by the pipe. Berwald had been the one to dispose of the body.

Berwald prayed that the other knew what he was doing, that _he_ wouldn't end up as a bloody smear on the grass.

* * *

Alfred was a short distance away, perhaps two long strides. Something was wrong with him—Ivan didn't know what. The sweet angel who had smothered him in hugs and kisses that morning couldn't be the hard-eyed, snarling creature standing in front of him, not without a very good reason.

Ivan fumbled inside his coat. His fingers closed around metal, and he fished the pipe out.

Alfred's eyes narrowed, then widened as Ivan threw both the pipe and his sword on the ground behind him.

The platinum blond took a step forward.

Alfred hesitated.

Ivan was unarmed. If Alfred shot him now, it would be no different from shooting a civilian. Ivan had his ice magic, but he didn't seem like he was planning on using it. He didn't like using it, anyway. Ivan didn't like feeling cold. He had told Alfred, once, that calling forth his powers made him feel as if the very marrow in his bones was freezing solid. Then he had clutched Alfred tighter to him, as if afraid of losing his only source of warmth.

Ivan was close enough to touch him. His lips curved into a smile, parted.

"You're filthy, Alfred," Ivan crooned. "You're just a dirty slut. How many demons have you had between your legs? Too many to count, I'm sure. You're a monster and a murderer, and the only time that anyone might give half a damn about you is when they're buried balls deep inside you. Dorogoy, no one would _ever_ want you for anything other than a quick fuck."

Alfred shrank back. He raised the sword in his other hand, hating the slight trembling in his arm.

* * *

Ivan didn't react as the tip of the Light-forged blade grazed his cheek. Calmly, he pushed the sword aside, reached past the outstretched hand that controlled the shining firearms, and drew Alfred into an embrace.

"Time to settle down, da, Alfred?" He murmured as he massaged at the base of Alfred's wings. Ah, his little angel must be so tired after battling the Basilisk, but was still standing strong, being good as he let Ivan pet him. 

Ivan pressed a tender kiss to the top of the golden head.

* * *

Ivan kissed him, and everything that transpired that evening collapsed on Alfred's shoulders in a single instant.

Suddenly exhausted, Alfred dropped his hand. The ring of submachine guns vanished; the clearing descended into darkness.

"Time to settle down, da? Your little temper tantrum was completely unnecessary. You should have accepted your fate by now. You have been such a bad boy tonight, Alfred. I am very disappointed in you."

Alfred shuddered violently in Ivan's arms, but didn't protest as the demon lifted him up into a bridal carry. His shining sword thumped gently on the grass as it fell from his hand.

 _Let me go_ , he wanted to cry as he curled up into a small ball against Ivan's chest.

If he begged Ivan, would his master listen? He had listened when Alfred had asked to fly. Alfred hadn't thought that he'd say yes.

But Ivan had said that he was bad. No, Ivan would probably laugh at him. He was Ivan's plaything. Ivan could use him how he liked. The other general was practical; he wouldn't let go of something that still had some use left.

Ivan was already disappointed. Maybe he would get angry that Alfred even dared to ask. Maybe Ivan would never let him out of the castle again, or let him fly. Maybe Ivan would be so displeased that he would clip Alfred's wings.

Alfred whimpered at the thought. He couldn't make Ivan angry. He was just a warm body for Ivan to hold when Ivan felt cold and a convenient hole for Ivan to fuck when Ivan got horny.

They were inside Ivan's tent, back on the small cot.

Ivan's arms were wrapped around Alfred, but all Alfred wanted was to curl up tighter into himself, curl up into a ball so small that he could slip through the gap between Ivan's arms, disappear, be free.

What would freedom look like for him, Alfred being as he was now?

Something that Alfred had steadfastly refused to think about—he shoved aside the thoughts the moment they came into his head—finally broke to the surface.

 _Heaven wouldn't want him back_.

No matter how competent of a general he used to be, how efficient, Alfred was impure. Corrupted. No good. The other angels would scorn him for what he did in the Underworld, for what he had been forced to do.

…Except it hadn't _all_ been forced.

A wave of nausea swept over Alfred. He fought the urge to throw up. Gods, even if the other angels, by some miracle, chose to overlook his transgressions on account of his being forced into them, they would _never_ forgive him for willingly lying with the enemy. A Dark general, no less.

Ivan was right next to him. He hadn't put Alfred's bracelets back on him yet. If he killed Ivan, would the other angels be more lenient? But it wasn't Ivan's fault that Alfred had been willing—really, he had no one but himself to blame for being such a pathetic, clingy slut.

Ivan's fingers were rubbing small circles at the junction where Alfred's wings met his back, exactly the way that Alfred liked.

Arthur had been right: Alfred was nothing but a pampered bed slave. Francis could have given him to someone far worse than Ivan, who stroked his wings and fed him strawberries and didn't force him, not anymore, even though he could. Not that there was any need for it, when Alfred rolled over like a dog.

His eyelids grew heavy.

If Ivan ever let him go, the best life that Alfred could hope to have in the Underworld would be as an independent courtesan, or maybe as a prostitute in a high-class brothel. Francis' training was sufficient for that, at least. He'd find a nice place to start anew, somewhere far from the Northern Territories, from Ivan, and take on clients and pretend like he had the illusion of choice; pretend like it was because he wanted to, and not because he wasn't fit for anything else anymore.

He'd probably make a killing at it, too—hadn't Arthur said that a ton of demons wanted to rip him to pieces? He had caused a great deal of misery to the Dark army, that was for sure. There would be a lot of resentful soldiers, so no shortage of clients.

Being a courtesan would be better. No point in giving up a cut of his profits to a brothel, and he could take care of himself, as long as Ivan let Alfred have his sword. Or left his bracelets off. Or not.

Honestly, Alfred thought as sleep clouded his mind and a familiar weight settled around his wrists, Arthur should have just killed Alfred instead of giving him a fate worse than death.

* * *

Alfred felt hollow when he awoke, as if his insides had been scooped out and replaced by a weightless, strange serenity. He dully eyed the plums stacks neatly on a small plate near the cot and picked one up, nibbled at it as he studied the enchanted band on his other hand.

Ivan didn't chain him to the cot last night. Ivan hadn't used the chains in a while.

So what if he was just a quick fuck to Ivan? Ivan treated him well enough. It didn't matter; it wasn't like Alfred actually _cared_ for his demon master, or anything ridiculous like that. Alfred was a slave who had given Ivan the kind of comfort that a pleasure slave was supposed to provide for his master. There was nothing more, Alfred thought bitterly. To even imagine otherwise would be utter foolishness.

Alfred felt a sharp burst of anger towards himself; the serene disassociation evaporated. He licked his thumb and rubbed harshly at his eyes, ignoring the tears that leaked out.

He'd never doll himself up for Braginsky again—fuck him—Alfred vowed as the eyeshadow and eyeliner came off in silver and black streaks. He probably looked like a mess, he'd need his oil-based cleanser to wash off the makeup, ugh, but who the fuck cared? If Ivan didn't like how Alfred looked, then Ivan should get rid of him.

The flap of the tent opened, and the Dark general stepped through.

Ivan blinked as he returned to see Alfred scrub furiously at his eyes, crying as he ate a plum.

Brows furrowed in worry, Ivan wet a handkerchief with water from his flask and made to dab at the angel's face.

Alfred didn't let him; he snatched the handkerchief from Ivan's fingers and turned away.

"Fredka…"

Alfred flinched. Ivan's heart sank as the angel drew his wings up around himself. Alfred didn't want to talk to him.

When no more smudges came off, Alfred wadded up the silk and flung it to the ground. Ivan stooped down to pick it up.

"We are going home now, sunflower."

" _Don't,"_ Alfred finally snapped. Stupid Ivan with his stupid nicknames. Alfred hated them with a burning passion. How in Tartarus had he thought that the silly pet names actually meant anything?

He furled his wings and glanced at Ivan.

The demon looked taken aback, violet eyes rounded with surprise.

Shit, Alfred couldn't let Ivan know that he hated them. Ivan was still his master. He could do and say whatever he wanted.

The angel shook his head and tried to play it off. "No, if there's a Nightmare Basilisk, there's also a nest nearby. We have to break the eggs and kill the young."

He stood up and headed outside before Ivan could say anything, pausing only to chuck away the half-eaten plum and snatch up his sword.

Ivan reluctantly followed. He would brief Berwald and take him along as backup, but the rest of the troop would stay behind and pack up camp. Too many soldiers would slow them down. Afterwards, when it was just Alfred and him, he'd figure out what was wrong.

* * *

It hadn't been difficult to find the Basilisk's tracks at all. The monster was fully mature, and confident that it was the toughest thing in the woods, judging by the broken branches and shallow trenches it left behind in its wake.

The sun was midway through the sky when Alfred spotted the large tell-tale clump of twigs and leaves. Ivan and Berwald trailed behind, clearly unused to navigating the tangled undergrowth of the forest.

Alfred cautiously approached the nest.

Three eggs looked as if they had been hit hard by a rock, their contents spilling out. The fourth yielded a freshly-hatched viper, a scant few hours old. Its body was unmoving. Alfred leaned down. There was a bullet neatly embedded in its skull.

The former Light general straightened up immediately and scanned the nearby trees.

His eyes caught the silhouette of a figure perched on a branch, the glint of sunlight on the metal barrel of a sniper rifle, a flash of white feathers.

A while back, Feliks had mentioned an angel who had fled from his brothel to a demon village in the forest…

"Tino?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> setting the groundwork for alfred's deep-rooted insecurities, hooray! boy is channeling some real "drunk girl sobbing in a nightclub bathroom stall at 2 a.m." energy


	5. Case V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Tino catch up. Ivan has an overdue conversation with Alfred.

The figure in the tree jerked.

"Alfred?" It yelped.

"Hey, man! Long time no see. How've you been?"

The smaller angel climbed down with a rustle of leaves and approached his former commanding officer, holding his rifle loosely in one hand.

"Sir, what are you doing in this neck of the—" Tino cut himself off as two tall demons emerged into the clearing. He lifted his weapon and clicked off the safety in one smooth movement.

"Woah, Tino, hold it!" Alfred shoved the barrel to the side so that it was no longer aimed at Ivan.

Tino cocked his head. "Sir?"

"This is General Ivan Braginsky," Alfred said, gesturing at the demon who was standing a few paces behind him. "And this is Berwald, his second-in-command. I was given to General Braginsky after my capture."

"General Braginsky? Who enforces royal rule in these territories?"

"The same." He retracted his hand when it didn't seem like Tino was going to shoot. "Are you in these woods by yourself?"

"Yes, sir. I have a camp set up not too far away from here."

Alfred hummed thoughtfully. "How did you avoid the Nightmare Basilisk that was in this area? It took out quite a few demons."

"A lot of wasted bullets and running around, sir," Tino scowled. "I shot at it until it finally learned its lesson to leave me alone. It wasn't the brightest."

"Low on ammo?" Alfred grinned. Pleasant, sweet-tempered Tino looked downright _pissed._

"You have no idea," the other angel grumbled. "I saved a handful for special occasions, but I had to start using pebbles. If only all of us could just conjure bullets from thin air."

"Ha, you wish you were this awesome!" Tino rolled his eyes as the golden blond laughed. Apparently not even months of captivity in the Underworld were enough to change Alfred. A small smile found its way to the shorter angel's lips as he studied his former commanding officer. He seemed as cheery and loud as ever.

"Hey, Tino," Alfred clapped him on the back. "How would you like to stay at Ivan's castle with me? Feliks is there, too. It's warmer there than out here, and safer. You wouldn't need to worry about running out of ammo."

Alfred turned to Ivan. "Master, you don't mind, do you?" He asked, not making eye contact. His voice wavered a little.

Ivan blinked in surprise at being suddenly addressed. "No, not at all."

Alfred refocused his attention on Tino. "What do you say?"

"Um." The violet-eyed angel quailed. General Braginsky and his second-in-command looked _terrifying_. They were both solidly-built— _massive,_ actually—and radiated an intense, dark aura.

They looked like they would eat Tino alive.

Alfred noticed. "Don't worry. I won't let them hurt you." He leaned closer, and Tino saw steel and fire in the Light general's eyes. "I protect my own," Alfred said fiercely.

Tino relaxed.

Alfred's brilliance in warfare was something that no one could deny—he was an expert strategist and a prodigy in all matters relating to defense. Alfred had watched out for them on the battlefield, and their unit's high rate of survival showed the success of his efforts. Even Arthur's men had sustained heavier losses. Alfred's protection was not something to be taken lightly.

"I'll come with you, sir."

"Then it's settled!" Alfred said brightly. "I can help you pack up." He grinned at Tino again.

Tino smiled back.

* * *

Berwald watched as the pair exited the clearing. From the time that he and Ivan arrived, the exchange between Jones and the little doe-eyed angel—Tino, was it?—had taken fewer than five minutes. Jones' obnoxious rapid-fire chatter had been hard enough to follow, but Berwald's ability to focus had dissipated completely every time he heard the musical lilt of Tino's voice.

"Sir?"

"Da?"

"What just happened?"

"I'm, ah, not sure. It appears that there will be a new addition to the castle." Ivan seemed perplexed by the unexpected turn of events as well.

"….Hm." Berwald grunted. Absently, he wondered if the pretty little angel's hair was as soft as it looked.

* * *

Tino stuck close to Alfred as they entered the camp. As if sensing his anxiety, his former commanding officer deliberately guided Tino to a shaded corner of the camp, where a white pegasus was tied to the trunk of a tree.

"Tino, this is Tony. Tony, Tino. Tino used to be one of my guys during the war." The stallion snorted, looking unimpressed with the introduction.

"Moi, Tony!"

Tony tried to take a chunk out of Tino's hair.

" _No,_ bad Tony," Alfred chided. "Be nice." He plucked a sugar cube from his pocket and waved it under the pegasus' muzzle. "Will you be good and let Tino ride you? I'll make it worth your while!"

Tony tossed his head back and whinnied. _Al, you fucking asshole_. He snapped the sugar cube up.

"Great! So now we all get along." Alfred laughed and swung himself up into the saddle. He extended a hand to Tino. "Up you go, buddy!"

* * *

It was starting to get uncomfortable—the saddle hadn't been made for two people, and even though Tino and Alfred were both slim, it was a tight fit. They had been in the air for hours, with only a short break to stretch and let the pegasi have some food and water.

Tino scooted forward a little to take the pressure off of his lower back.

"Sorry, dude. Another half hour or so, and we'll be there."

"It's fine, sir."

"I meant to ask earlier, but how did you end up in that forest? It's pretty far from the brothel where Feliks was at."

"Well," Tino said slowly. "I _hated_ being at the brothel. Didn't know where else to go, though. After a month there, I had a client who had just came back from the warfront. When he was sleeping, I stole his rifle and some ammo, and high-tailed it out. I traveled at night and kept hidden in underbrush during the day. I must have been on the move for a few months.

"It was all right in the forests—I could find some fruit here and there, and sometimes I stumbled across a farm or orchard. I didn't eat as well as I did at the brothel, but I didn't have to sell myself, either. I ended up staying by the village because there was a nice grove of wild apple trees nearby."

Tino shrugged. "People left me alone, for the most part. There was one demon who bothered me, but I took care of it."

"Middle-aged guy? I was wondering why there was a bullet involved in that death. Didn't seem like most of the village had access to firearms."

Alfred looked at Tino sharply. "Did he do anything to you?"

"Sir, I can definitely handle myself," Tino chuckled. "He accidentally stumbled across my camp one evening. He was nice at first—helped me get some food that wasn't apples, but then he wanted something in return." Tino’s face darkened. "He was very insistent, to the point where I didn't feel like I had much of a choice."

He peered up nervously at the Light general. "Will General Braginsky's castle be like the brothel? I'd prefer not to, but I know how things work in the Underworld for angels—"

Alfred shook his head. "Absolutely not. If anyone bothers you, you let me know immediately, okay?"

Tino nodded, violet gaze still fixed on the other. "You and General Braginsky…"

"We worked something out," Alfred said vaguely. "It's kind of complicated."

Tino was quiet for a moment. "Your powers—"

"Restrained," Alfred sighed, a rueful smile on his lips. He held up his hands to show Tino the golden bracelets. "A pretty piece of spellwork. Flawless craftsmanship, unfortunately."

"General Braginsky hasn't been careless at all? There have been no opportunities for escape?"

The corners of Alfred's mouth turned down. "None so far," he muttered.

* * *

After the angels had dismounted, Tony had trotted off to the stables and Alfred had gone to speak with Ivan about Tino's situation, leaving the violet-eyed angel near the gates by himself.

General Braginsky's castle was _beautiful_ , Tino thought, awed as he took in the glittering spires and colorful domes. The structures in Heaven had been functional and modern, lovely in their own way, but they lacked such opulence and ornate decoration in their aesthetics.

Tino would be allowed to stay here, in this gorgeous place, and he wouldn't have to do any of the things that he had needed to do back at the brothel—

Alfred's hand was on his shoulder. "Ivan says that you can have one of the guest suites!" the golden blond chirped. "Let's get you settled in." He pushed open a side entrance to the main gates, and disappeared inside.

Tino trailed behind, eyes wide and shining as he followed Alfred through the long corridors that were lined with carved mahogany doors. They ascended winding flights of stairs and stopped in front of a cream-colored door with faint grey accents.

Alfred handed Tino a small, silver key. "This will be your suite from now on."

Tino unlocked the door. He gasped. The suite was positively luxurious, with comfortable-looking chairs and armchairs scattered around the room. A large mirror hung above the fireplace, and light streamed in from enormous windows. At the far end, Tino saw another door, no doubt leading to the bedroom.

"How in Heaven does Ivan furnish his guest rooms like this?" Alfred wondered out loud. "Ugh, he's so bad with money. That does explain why his military budget is so tiny, though," he mumbled to himself.

"T-this is mine? I can stay here?"

"Yep! You can do whatever you want. There's a library on the third floor, training grounds close by if you want to spar, and a pond with some fish. Oh! And a fancy bathing room on the first floor."

Tino whipped around. " _Sauna?"_

"Uh, there might be one? I haven't really been there, but Toris would know. He's the Head Housekeeper. He'll stop by with dinner soon, okay? You can ask him for a tour then. Feliks will be around, too. I have to go, Ivan's expecting me for dinner." Alfred stepped towards the door. "Super rad that you're here, bro. I'll check in tomorrow, okay?"

"Sounds good, sir."

Alfred planted a hand on his hip. "No more 'sir,' got it?" He ruffled Tino's hair. "It's just Alfred or Al. I'm not a general anymore."

"Sir…" Tino swallowed at the look that Alfred gave him.

"All right, Al," Tino agreed, and tried to pretend that sadness didn't tinge his smile, that tears weren't welling up in his eyes, that they weren't both birds in a gilded cage.

* * *

Dinner had been very quiet, Ivan reflected as he lay in bed with a novel. Alfred had looked distracted the whole time. He responded to Ivan's attempts to make conversation with clipped, one-word answers and directed his gaze at a spot next to the side of Ivan's head when Ivan had asked Alfred to look at him.

The demon heard soft footsteps. He peered over the top of his book; Alfred was padding into the washroom. The door closed. The sound of rushing water started. Alfred was probably drawing a bath. Ivan had taken a shower while Alfred was helping the new angel get acclimated, reveling in the feel of cleanliness after the grime from their journey.

His eyes passed over the next paragraph without seeing the words, lost in his thoughts. Alfred's behavior was concerning. The golden blond, normally so warm and affectionate, was being uncharacteristically chilly and distant to Ivan.

Not to mention the events of last night—Alfred's intention to shoot him had been genuine.

Ivan had taken an enormous gamble in approaching the angel, then. When Francis had told him to not be careless at the palace, on that long-ago day when he had requested Alfred for his war prize, the king had cautioned against this exact kind of atrocious risk.

The Northern Territories were cold; Jones was trigger-happy. Simple facts. Ivan's men must have thought he was suicidal. Ivan himself would have considered it sheer insanity a month ago. If Alfred had been merely acting on a capricious urge, no one would have been surprised.

It had been the hurt in those brilliant cerulean eyes that convinced Ivan otherwise, that had propelled his feet forward to meet Alfred and gather the former Light general in his arms.

Alfred was tough. Physical pain didn't faze him—the grin hadn't slipped from his face when he had taken Ivan's beatings—so whatever injury Alfred had suffered must have been psychological.

The angel's warning about the Nightmare Basilisk drifted into Ivan's mind. _A fatal illusion_ … Had Alfred accidentally looked into one of the monster's eyes during his battle? That would explain his odd attitude, if Alfred was agitated by some terrible vision and unable to distinguish between fiction and reality. Certainly, the Basilisk's hallucinations were to be taken seriously: Ivan had to look no further than the tragic deaths and bouts of madness that had struck the unfortunate inhabitants of the village for proof.

A spark of curiosity ignited.

Ivan tucked a bookmark to save his place, set the novel on the nightstand, and folded his hands over his chest.

What had Alfred seen to make him act that way? Something about the war? It wouldn't be something related to Alfred's time in Francis' palace, or his first weeks in Ivan's castle—Alfred had seemed to put those days behind them, Ivan mused. Alfred's nightmares about Davie had grown much less frequent since Ivan had started to hold him at night.

Tartarus? Alfred's projects?

…Ivan?

Even as the Dark general shook his head with a soft chuckle, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Alfred was so confident and demanding around him, Ivan couldn't fathom what kind of illusion involving him would ever rattle Alfred.

Ivan would ask Alfred when he finished his bath, and he wouldn't accept silence as an answer this time.

The platinum blond shifted so that he was facing the bathroom door.

After a while—thirty minutes, an hour? Alfred had spent a long time in the bath, the water must be cold by now—the door cracked open and Alfred emerged, wrapped in a loose silk robe.

Without looking at Ivan, he slipped under the sheets at the edge of the bed and buried his head under the covers.

Ivan turned off the lamp on the nightstand.

Reaching over, he gently pulled the angel into his arms and started to stroke the golden hair, fine like silk.

"What happened last night? You have been behaving strangely all day. Did you see one of the Basilisk's illusions during your battle?"

Alfred was very still. Ivan was about to ask again when he heard a little inhale.

"I saw you." The whisper rustled in the darkness of the room.

The demon's hand paused, then resumed its motions.

"You said that you didn't want me. Or you did. I don't know." Alfred fidgeted. "You wanted me as a fucktoy. That's all."

"That's all?" Alfred could hear the frown in Ivan's voice.

"That's all I was to you. That's all I saw. I know, I shouldn't have freaked out. It was probably just a hallucination, and even if it wasn't, it's not a big deal. Francis gifted me to you as a bed slave."

Alfred shivered, then dutifully recited the words that he was supposed to say for times like these, the line that he had practiced in the bath until he could speak without stuttering. "Your slave apologizes for causing you worry, master." Gods, he had loathed this part of the training. Forcing a smile, Alfred turned around and tucked his head under Ivan's chin.

Ivan's hand tightened in his hair, not enough to hurt, and Alfred cracked open a sapphire eye.

"Is something the matter, master?"

"You are not my bed slave, Alfred."

Alfred scrunched his brows in confusion. "What do you mean? I'm in your bed every night."

"Silly Fredka," Ivan's tone was fond, "you should have told me what was troubling you earlier. Illusions are easy to dispel when they are blatant lies. You are my consort."

"Oh, okay," Alfred murmured. He relaxed slowly against Ivan's chest. "Um, that's good, I guess." The tips of his wings fluttered, pleased.


	6. Criminal I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan brings Alfred to the countryside to visit his sister and for a change of pace. Cue childhood stories, flower crowns, and bunnies.

The evergreens blurred together into a single dark emerald mass as the stallions trotted briskly along the unpaved road.

There was no dusting of snow on the tops of the pine trees, and the weather was balmy. It would not stay so for long, so, really, this was the ideal time for a countryside outing.

Ivan had taken the rest of the week off from work; a too-rare warm spell in the depths of winter was not to be taken for granted. He was long overdue for a visit with Katyusha, anyway: she had been quite adamant that he take a break soon to see her in her last letter.

There was another thing, as well, that had made the timing so fortuitous—

His gaze settled on the angel—his _consort,_ Ivan reminded himself with a private little thrill, for Alfred hadn't rejected the title—across from him.

Alfred was curled up on the seat, one arm propping his face up as he leaned slightly out of the window. His light silk tunic fluttered with the movement of the carriage. Alfred was shivering slightly, Ivan noted with a frown.

It wasn't _cold_ , per se, but it certainly wasn't warm enough for the flowy fabric, especially since Alfred didn't have his rabbit fur cloak anymore. It had been ruined beyond salvation following his fight with the Basilisk, drenched in so much tarry blood that Ivan had declared it a lost cause the moment one of his men had dragged it in front of him.

Ivan fingered the package he had tucked inside the basket beside him.

"Fredka, would you like to sit with me?" He smiled at his consort.

Alfred didn't move from his place at the carriage window. "I'm good."

Ivan's smile faded.

The second reason for the excursion, beyond Katyusha's insistence, was Alfred. Alfred had… changed.

It had started the evening that Alfred became Ivan's consort. Well—perhaps a bit earlier, after the encounter with the Basilisk, but he had been troubled by the monster's illusion then, Ivan told himself.

Nothing drastic—just little things here and there. When Ivan had a bad day, Alfred would unfurl his wings and wait patiently, silently, as Ivan stroked the downy feathers, instead of whining for Ivan to move his fingers to the base of his wings already.

When Ivan became tired in the late afternoon, Alfred would cradle Ivan's head in his lap and thread his fingers in the platinum hair until the warmth and repetitive petting lulled Ivan to sleep. Upon waking, though, Ivan was always alone. Alfred would be on the ledge of the bay windows, one leg crossed neatly over the other, reading.

Alfred still responded to Ivan's doting gestures, but he never actively sought out the demon's touches, never pressed himself to Ivan as if personal space were a concept that didn't exist. He didn't pepper Ivan with kisses or burrow into Ivan's arms for hugs.

The golden blond was reserved, almost subdued around Ivan, now. If the demon didn't know any better, he'd have thought that Alfred was keeping his distance.

Ivan hadn't been concerned at first; the effects of the illusion might take a few days to completely dissipate, he'd heard. As days turned into weeks, and Alfred showed no sign of regaining his enthusiasm and affectionate nature, however, Ivan had gotten progressively more worried.

Did Alfred no longer desire Ivan's attention? Was he getting bored with Ivan?

He hoped that the change of scenery would return Alfred to his former self. And even if it didn't resolve the problem, some fresh air would be good for his little angel. Alfred thrived in open spaces and sunlight. Katyusha's home was in a lovely part of the Underworld—Ivan had spent many a pleasant day taking walks in the countryside near the village where she resided.

A sudden chilly breeze blew through the forest. Alfred curled up tighter; a tremor ran through his wings.

Ivan tried a different tactic.

"I have a gift for you, sunflower." Alfred liked gifts and nice surprises. Ivan smiled again as the angel turned towards him curiously. "You have to come here for it, lapochka. Sit with me."

Alfred nibbled his lip, conflicted, but he finally drifted over to Ivan's seat and perched shyly on Ivan's knee.

"What is it?"

Ivan reached into the basket and took out a large bundle covered in silver paper and tied off with a satin ribbon.

Alfred's eyes widened. "Is this for me?"

Ivan chuckled at the excitement in the angel's voice. "Da, dorogoy. Open it."

Alfred ripped open the package—scraps of silver paper fell to the floor of the carriage—and gasped.

"Oh, it's _gorgeous_ ," he whispered. "It's mine? Are you sure?"

Ivan hummed, satisfied by Alfred's reaction. "Of course." He took the cloak—white lynx fur with a snowy mink hood and trimming, enhanced with the finest spellwork—and draped it over Alfred's shoulders, then secured it with the accompanying gold cloak pin.

"It's charmed to be indestructible. It will remain pristine regardless of how harshly you use it."

The golden blond studied the garment. "This must have been really expensive, Ivan. I don't know…"

The demon shushed him. "Let me spoil you, Fredka. You deserve it for your part in resolving the Nightmare Basilisk issue. The king was very impressed."

"Mhm." Alfred slowly ran a hand down the length of the cloak. It was longer than his other cloak, and incredibly soft. Ivan had said that it was a gift, but this must have cost _so_ much, and Ivan's budget was meager at best. He really should have used the money on something more useful, like getting better equipment for his men.

Ah, did Ivan give Alfred the cloak because he wanted a gift from Alfred? He didn't have a lot to give Ivan… Maybe he could offer his body? The roads were kind of bumpy, so riding Ivan wouldn't feel very good, but he could suck Ivan off.

"Do you, um, want a blowjob or something?" Alfred twisted his fingers in the fur anxiously.

"E-excuse me?" Ivan looked utterly baffled.

Alfred peered at Ivan through his lashes. Had he misinterpreted? "For the cloak," he clarified.

"It's a gift, Alfred," Ivan furrowed his brow. "I don't want anything in return."

Judging by Alfred's frown, the angel was unconvinced.

"Well," Ivan amended, "I would like it very much if you sat with me for a while."

"…All right." Alfred made himself comfortable in Ivan's lap and quietly settled in for the rest of the carriage ride.

* * *

It was nearing sunset when the carriage stopped in front of a small log cottage on the village outskirts.

"Oh, it's so quaint!" Alfred hopped off of Ivan's lap and stepped out of the carriage. "This is where your sister lives, right?"

Immediately missing the angel's warmth, Ivan walked up the pathway leading to the front door and knocked. "Da, Katyusha has been here for many years."

A few seconds passed; the door flew open, and a pretty demoness with short platinum blonde hair, a yellow headband, and small black horns was beaming at them.

Oh… Wow. Alfred politely averted his eyes. Her breasts were _enormous_.

"Vanya," she cried happily, "you're here!" Her blue eyes landed on Alfred. "Oh, and this must be Fedya!"

"Da, Katyusha. Alfred, this is Yekaterina Braginskaya, my sister. She is older."

Before the angel could react, he was wrapped up in a tight hug. Alfred squeaked. "You're just adorable! Please, call me Katyusha or Katya."

"Um, okay, Katya." Alfred extricated himself from the embrace with some difficulty. "It's nice to meet you." He smiled at her.

Her eyes softened. "Come in and make yourselves at home! I have some chamomile tea ready for you, Vanya, and I made some special lemon tea for Fedya. Fedya, you can only have fruit in the Underworld, da?"

Alfred nodded. Katya looked pleased. "I am sure that you will like the tea. I put a lot of fruit sugar in it." She grasped Alfred's wrist with a gentle hand and guided him into the cottage, shoving Ivan along with her other arm. "Please sit down!"

* * *

Katya's lemon tea _was_ really good, Alfred thought as he sipped from the steaming mug before him the next morning. Not as good as coffee, maybe—he hadn't had coffee in _forever_ —but it was fragrant and very, very sweet.

Katya, too, was very, very sweet. They had stayed up late last night, talking. Katya had asked a lot of questions about Alfred's life in the castle, and Alfred, in turn, had fully enjoyed Katya's fun childhood stories about her and Ivan.

Ivan had looked alternatively mortified and nostalgic, before he finally cut Katya off during her story about how Ivan had once cried when he saw sheep being shorn. Vanya had been scared that the sheep would be cold, Katya confided to Alfred with a wink as Ivan flushed bright red. "Not in front of Alfred, sister," Ivan had whined.

Ivan entered from the kitchen, holding a platter of fruit in one hand and an omelette on a plate in the other. "You look like you're in a good mood this morning, dorogoy."

Alfred smiled at him. "Just thinking about last night."

A faint pink crept up Ivan's pale cheeks. "Erm," he cleared his throat. "I was very young, and didn't know any better—" "It's cute," Alfred interjected. "You were a cute kid." He took the platter from Ivan's hand and bit into an apple slice, snagged a few cherries.

Ivan relaxed. "Ah, okay." He sliced into the omelette. "What do you want to do today? Katyusha is tending to her garden. I usually go on walks when I'm here. The countryside is beautiful."

Alfred preened his feathers with his free hand. "I haven't flown in a while."

Ivan hesitated. "I don't want you to get lost… You don't have your sword to protect yourself."

Alfred leaned back in his chair. "So come with me, then. You always have that pipe with you, right? Besides, what's the worst thing that could be lurking near this village? A couple of bunnies?"

"We _are_ in the Underworld, Fredka. There are nastier creatures than the Manticore here."

Alfred shrugged, nonchalant. "Maybe. I doubt it, though."

"We can fly," Ivan decided when it seemed that Alfred wouldn't budge. "But we're not going too far."

Alfred grinned. "Great!" He hastily finished the rest of his breakfast. "I'll see you outside in a few."

* * *

Alfred was right—he really had been worrying needlessly, Ivan reflected as they soared through the sky. The day was sunny and mild, and Alfred looked blissful, gliding on the wind with his gold-edged wings. He was glowing in the sunlight.

Out of the corner of his eye, the demon saw vibrant green dotted with specks of vivid color.

"Let's land in the meadows," he shouted, voice thin in the high altitude. He pointed to the patch.

"Okay!" Alfred made a fancy little loop in the air and dove down.

Alfred was a faster flier than him; by the time that Ivan landed on a small swell in the ground, the angel was nowhere to be seen.

Ivan wandered through the waist-high grasses, stepping around powder blue daisies and alpine flowers.

The flowers were truly wonderful—Ivan paused to admire a particularly large crocus—but where was Alfred? He couldn't have gone far away…

There was a streak of yellow at the horizon. Ivan squinted, and saw the faint outline of a row of sunflowers. Had Alfred gone into the sunflower field? Ivan's hands rose to fidget with the ends of his scarf. He'd _never_ find Alfred amidst the tall flowers.

"Alfred," Ivan called, then again, louder, when there was no response. " _Alfred!"_

His consort's golden head popped up a short distance away.

Alfred held a finger to his lips, an annoyed expression on his face. He beckoned the demon over.

"Gods," Alfred huffed when Ivan was close enough to hear. "Can you be any louder, dude? You'll scare the bunnies."

"Bunnies?" Perplexed, Ivan kneeled down next to where Alfred was lying on his stomach, one arm elbow-deep in a hole on the ground.

"Bunnies," Alfred confirmed, wiggling his arm.

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Uh, is that wise, Fredka? What if a snake is in there?"

"I know a rabbit burrow when I see one, Ivan." Any protestations that Ivan was about to make were cut off when Alfred's cerulean eyes suddenly lit up. "I feel it!"

He carefully drew his arm back out.

Lo and behold, there was a white ball of fluff daintily dangling by the scruff of its neck from Alfred's fingers.

Ivan blinked at the bunny. The bunny blinked back, twitching its pink nose.

"Aww, isn't it adorable?" Alfred cooed. He slipped a hand inside his tunic pocket and took out a few cherries. "Do you want a yummy treat, little guy?" Alfred plopped down with the bunny in the crook of his elbow.

Sighing, Ivan sat down next to Alfred. There was no stopping the angel when he put his mind to something. Ivan supposed that he should be grateful it was only terrorizing local wildlife that Alfred was interested in, and not escaping to where Ivan couldn't find him.

The bunny began to nibble at the cherry. Alfred plucked the cherry stem off and put it into his mouth, then flopped backwards into the Dark general's lap, chewing.

"Ta-da!" Alfred stuck his tongue out. There was a knot in the middle of the stem.

Ivan laughed quietly. "Very impressive, Fredka," he said, smoothing back Alfred's hair. He picked some nearby daisies and put them against Alfred's head to gauge if the colors worked together.

Done with the cherry, the bunny timidly made its way up Alfred's chest to the hollow of his neck. It sneezed. Alfred giggled.

There was a lot that he didn't know about his consort, Ivan mused as he intertwined the stems of the flowers with Alfred's silky locks. Like how his sunflower was ticklish, or that he could make that airy, tinkling sound. Deciding that he liked it, Ivan bent his head down and blew on Alfred's collarbone.

Alfred gasped. "You're mean, Ivan!" He sat up, cradling the bunny in his arms. "And stop trying to braid flowers into my hair, it's too short for that." He pouted at Ivan. "You're going to tug all of my hair out."

"Ah, sorry, lapochka." Ivan gently pushed Alfred back down so that the golden head was resting in his lap again. "I will make you a flower crown instead."

"Mmkay." Alfred's attention was completely occupied by the other bunnies who had poked their heads out of the burrow to see what their friend was doing. He took the rest of the cherries from his pocket and held them out. "Come here! I won't hurt y'all."

The bunnies gathered briefly, as if conferring, before cautiously creeping closer. Alfred squirmed out of Ivan's lap.

While Alfred was distracted, Ivan diligently wove daisies, alpine flowers, forget-me-nots, and crocuses into a multi-hued crown. He placed it on Alfred's head.

Alfred looked up from where he was playing with the newcomers. "Oh, nice. Thanks." One of the bunnies nudged it askew with its nose. "I think the bunnies want flower crowns, too, Ivan."

"The _bunnies_ want flower crowns," Ivan said flatly.

"Uh-huh." Alfred smiled charmingly at him. "If you make flower crowns for the bunnies, I'll make one for you! You can teach me how."

"Very well, dorogoy," Ivan kissed the top of Alfred's head. "Come here, then. I will teach you."

* * *

Each adorned with its own miniature flower crown and stuffed full of cherries, the bunnies hopped back to their burrow. Alfred watched them go with more than a little disappointment.

"Don't be sad, Fedya. I am sure that they will remember you after they go home." Ivan rubbed his shoulder.

"Home…" The angel murmured. Oh, it had been _ages_ since he last saw his home in Heaven. It hadn't been as lavish as Ivan's castle, but he liked it well enough. Absently, he wondered if everything in the cozy colonial house was as he had left it, waiting for an owner who would never return.

Ivan's smile slipped from his face when his consort's eyes misted. "I saw some sunflowers when I landed. Come with me," the demon said, a little sharply. "I know that Katyusha would appreciate some flowers for her living room."

He laced his fingers with Alfred's slim ones and, half-pulling, brought the former Light general with him to the edge of the sunflower field.


	7. Criminal II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Ivan go swimming and fishing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changed rating to explicit... time to get this sexy rusame bread *rolls up sleeves*

Something brushed against the underside of Ivan's jaw. Not yet ready to depart from a very nice dream about sunflowers and Alfred and Alfred's little pink tongue, he swatted at it none too gently.

"Ow!"

Ivan cracked open his eyes to find his consort holding his cheek, a scowl on his face. Ah, the tickle Ivan had felt must have been from the sunflower that he had tucked behind Alfred's ear yesterday afternoon. It was still there, even though the flower crown Ivan made for him had blown off while they were flying back.

"What in Tartarus was that for?"

"Apologies, lapochka. I was having a very pleasant dream when I felt your sunflower, and did not know what it was. Let me kiss it better?"

Alfred huffed, but scooted closer to Ivan, who freed the sunflower from Alfred's hair and placed it on a bedside table. Ivan would press the flower dry later. It would be a welcome addition to his memory book.

"What are we doing today, Vanya?" Alfred asked as the demon nuzzled him. Ivan pressed a kiss to the soft, flawless skin and briefly savored the sound that fell so sweetly from Alfred's lips. The angel hadn't called him by the endearment in quite a while—Ivan had missed it. Was Alfred warming up to him again?

"There is a large lake close by. I used to go for walks along the shore. We can head there after breakfast."

"Okay, sounds good." Alfred tilted his head. "What was your dream about?"

"We were in a sunflower field. It was a beautiful day, sunny. Not unlike yesterday."

Hm. Alfred was willing to bet that there was more to it, based on how Ivan avoided his gaze with a blush. But Alfred wouldn't try to weasel an answer out right now; the sooner they finished breakfast, the sooner Alfred could fly again.

"Breakfast, Ivan! Let's go!"

* * *

"Huh, you weren't kidding about the lake being big."

They were standing at the strip of land along the shoreline, under an ancient southern magnolia that had somehow made its home in the Northern Territories. Petals from the white blossoms were scattered on the ground.

"Well, only one thing to do," Alfred announced. He started to strip.

"Fedya, w-what are you doing?"

The angel paused, cloak on his arm and tunic pulled halfway up his torso. "What? It's nothing you haven't seen before." He waded into the water when every stitch of clothing was in a haphazard pile at the roots of the magnolia. "Oh, the water is _nice_. It's actually not as cold as a Yeti's balls, for once. Come join me!"

Ivan took a step back. "I don't know…" Skinny-dipping did not exactly befit his image as an elite, ruthless general. If Francis, or, gods forbid, _Gilbert_ , heard of it, he'd never be able to live it down.

"Get in, loser." Alfred splashed a wide arc of water at Ivan with his wing.

The demon sputtered as it drenched his lavender overcoat. " _Alfred._ "

The former Light general rolled his eyes. "You're being a big baby." Alfred made to flap his wing again.

Ivan growled and unbuttoned his coat. "I will make you regret this, Fredka," he said tightly.

"Yeah, yeah, you're so bad and tough. You can do whatever you want," Alfred smirked at him, "but you have to catch me first!"

* * *

Alfred wiped another dribble of lake water from his mouth as he shook the last beads of moisture from his wings. He slipped into his tunic and threw the cloak over his shoulders.

"You, Ivan Braginsky," he declared, straightening up and glaring at the demon, "are a dirty cheater. What you did should be illegal in at least three realms."

Ivan smiled innocently at him from underneath the shade of the magnolia. "I must confess that I have no idea what you mean, Alfred. You invited me to join you. How did you put it? I could do 'whatever I want' if I caught you first?"

"Yeah, I thought you were just gonna splash water at me, not drag me down and tickle me until I choked!"

The Dark general waved a hand. "You should have specified, then."

"Ivan, you bastard, I almost drowned. I'm pretty sure I swallowed a fish. If I throw up all over Katya's cottage later, it's totally your fault."

"Ah, well, we will deal with that dilemma when it arises." Still nude—his clothes had gotten wet during their little spat, and were drying on a nearby rock—the platinum blond spread a blanket from the picnic basket on the grass. "Are you hungry? It is almost lunchtime."

Alfred stuck out his tongue. "I'm not taking a damn thing from you, Braginsky."

"Oh, no? Then I guess I will have to eat all of these delicious strawberries by myself."

The angel's eyes widened. "You have strawberries?"

"Mhm. The latest harvest from the greenhouse. Toris picked them on the morning that we left. They will spoil if they are not consumed soon." Ivan unpacked the container and held up a fat strawberry, glinting ruby red in the sunshine. "Come over here, Fredka, and you may have it."

Alfred whimpered, longing clear in his eyes, but remained where he was.

"Sit with me, my beautiful sunflower," Ivan cajoled. To further entice the angel, Ivan took a nibble from the tip of the fruit. He hummed at the taste. "It is very sweet. You would like it."

Shoulders slumped, Alfred finally crossed over to Ivan and sat down in front of him. He extended an expectant hand.

"Not so fast, dorogoy. A kiss, first."

Alfred puffed out his cheeks, but craned up and gave Ivan a quick peck on the lips. "Now?" He asked hopefully.

"That was a half-hearted effort at best. I don't know…"

At seeing the crestfallen expression on his consort's face, Ivan relented. "All right, all right. I will give you your beloved treat, but you will let me feed them to you."

Alfred hooded his eyes and considered Ivan evenly, as if weighing a proposal.

"No more tricks?"

"None," Ivan promised. He forced down a rumble of triumph as the golden blond cautiously crawled onto his lap and pillowed his head against Ivan's chest. Almost giddy with his success, the demon caressed a fine cheekbone. "You gorgeous, radiant thing," he murmured.

Ivan's delight at having lured Alfred so close to him was somewhat tempered, however, when the angel shied away from Ivan's touch and gave Ivan a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Strawberry?"

Ivan obligingly lifted the piece of fruit; Alfred's rose-petal lips parted, and Ivan caught a flash of the luscious little tongue as it swiped across perfect pearled teeth.

Alfred bit into the strawberry with a soft moan. He melted in Ivan's arms.

" _So_ good," he whispered, and started to feast on the fruit with appreciative slurps and mewls.

Ivan sat, dazed, as his consort swirled his tongue around Ivan's fingertips, gathering up every drop of the juice. The _noises_ , gods... Alfred had to be doing this intentionally—probably payback for what Ivan did to him in the lake, the devious little minx.

The angel pulled away when he finished the strawberry, licking his lips. He shifted in Ivan's lap, and the demon general hissed.

"Wow, Vanya, you're such a perv," Alfred teased. "Can't a guy eat his lunch without you getting a hard-on?"

" _Alfred_." Ivan sounded pained.

Alfred grinned, enjoying the turn of events. "Hi, that's me!" He chirped as he ground his hips down. "You need anything, big guy?" His eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"You are evil," Ivan muttered darkly. Alfred ignored the comment, exclaiming in joy as the demon presented another strawberry to him.

The lewd noises resumed, louder and even more enthusiastic this time.

"Fredka," Ivan said at last, voice strained and cock _agonizingly_ hard. "Please stop. Your point is well taken. I admit that I was perhaps too harsh earlier. I am sorry for any distress I have caused you."

Alfred seemed satisfied, because he ate the rest of the strawberry in one bite. He smiled up at Ivan. "Okay, I forgive you." The angel draped his arms over Ivan's shoulders. "Want me to give you a blowjob?"

Ivan's pupils dilated. " _Yes_."

Giggling, Alfred ducked down.

* * *

His consort's throat convulsed around him as Ivan came with a low groan. Lost in the sensation, Ivan could vaguely feel Alfred swallowing his release.

His hands reached for the angel kneeling between his thighs. "Come here, Fredka. Let me take care of you." Ivan prepared to haul the golden blond up to his lap.

"Ah—um, that's okay, Ivan." When he was sure that no drop of semen had escaped, Alfred stood up and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. "I'm going to go fly for a bit, okay? I won't go far."

A look of concern suddenly shadowed the angel's face. "Hey, Vanya, there aren't any stains on this cloak, right? I didn't get it dirty?"

Ivan reclined against the trunk of the magnolia. "It'll be fine, lapochka. The cloak is charmed to resist stains." He smiled at Alfred. "Only the best for my consort."

Alfred still seemed a little flustered, but he returned the smile hesitantly. "All right, then. I'll be back in a few."

Ivan watched as Alfred unfolded his wings and soared—higher, higher—until he was barely a golden speck against the blue of the sky.

His senses no longer dulled from pleasure, Ivan slowly got up from the blanket and collected his clothing from the rock where they had been baking under the sun. To his relief, they were sufficiently dry. As he dressed, thoughts of Alfred’s indirect rejection flitted through his mind.

Alfred never turned down Ivan's desire for him outright, was never _unwilling_ during their couplings, but in the bedroom, too, Alfred's attitude had undeniably changed.

Alfred was good at sex—really, _really_ good—and he knew it. He was confident with his body and what it could do, and often was the one to initiate sex. Indeed, there had been a time when Ivan was even uncertain that he could satisfy his energetic, enthusiastic consort, who accepted all of Ivan's affections and asked for more.

Not so, now. Within the past few weeks, Alfred seemed to have acquired a newfound reticence along with his aversion to being touched and his indifference to Ivan's attentions. During their lovemaking, Alfred always kept his head buried in a pillow or Ivan's chest, concealing his face and stifling the sounds of his pleasure.

It was truly a pity, Ivan reflected glumly. Alfred was exquisite, a work of art meant to be admired. Ivan had so adored the beautiful little _o_ that Alfred's full lips made when Ivan brushed against his sweet spot, the way that Alfred's brilliant blue eyes rolled back in his lovely head, the fluttering of his long, curling lashes.

But if Alfred was self-conscious about his body—Heaven knows why, he had _nothing_ to be shy about—Ivan would not make his consort uncomfortable. He would not compel Alfred to display himself to Ivan, no matter how much Ivan craved seeing the angel come undone under Ivan's ministrations.

Alfred's quiet mewls and moans, soft gasps and sighs were delectable, yes, but they didn't ignite the fire in Ivan's lower belly the same way that his sweet cries of pleasure did. _Gods_ , how Ivan longed to hear them again. 

Once, and only once, following the change in Alfred's demeanor, had Ivan been able to coax such a sound from his consort. Alfred had cut off the sharp cry almost immediately, sinking his teeth into the heel of his hand to muffle it. Then he had thrown his forearm over his face, as if to hide his expression.

It hadn't been fast enough for Ivan to miss the devastating shame in Alfred's sapphire eyes.

The memory of that night had haunted Ivan since, and it rose to the forefront of his consciousness now. He had been more mindful to give Alfred compliments on his appearance, but the other seemed unaffected by them. Alfred had lost some of his former vanity—he had always taken great pride in how he looked, painstakingly applying cosmetics and never deviating from his skincare routine. Recently, however, Alfred had stopped putting on the makeup, although he still seemed attached to the plethora of creams that he had brought with him from Francis' palace.

Ivan could not puzzle out the source for Alfred's shift in behavior, and it was driving him mad. The angel was frustratingly tight-lipped and defensive when it came to certain topics; he used distractions to evade Ivan's questions, or tried to change the subject. Or, sometimes, as today, he would run away before Ivan had a chance to even voice them.

Did it have something to do with the Basilisk's illusion? Ivan had entertained the thought, but he had been under the impression that the illusion was about Alfred's status in the castle.

…There was another thing that it could be.

Ivan could never bring it up with Alfred, though. Ivan could not ask for confirmation for the simple reason that he was a coward. It began as a niggling suspicion on the evening when he saw the shame in Alfred's eyes, and grew stronger by the day.

Alfred was ashamed of being Ivan's consort, of being with Ivan.

His consort was a very proud person, independent-minded and strong-willed. Ivan had not consulted Alfred before conferring the title on him; he had assumed that Alfred would have preferred it unequivocally. Maybe that was why Alfred was distant and shy—perhaps he did not want the status, even though it was the highest for the companion of a demon like Ivan.

Ivan could not ask Alfred if he was ashamed of being Ivan's consort. Alfred could say no, that it was something else—and wouldn't that be ideal? But Ivan was far too afraid of the other scenario to ever confront Alfred on the issue.

If Alfred said yes, that he was unhappy, then Ivan would have to let him go, and Ivan so badly, so very selfishly, wanted Alfred to stay by his side.

* * *

True to his word, not much time had passed before Alfred returned. "Vanya, I found a stream with a lot of fish! Let's go and get some for Katya!"

The Dark general picked up the packed-up picnic basket. "All right, lapochka. Lead the way."

Bouncing with excitement, Alfred snatched up Ivan's hand and dragged him a short distance through the forest to a shallow, slow-running stream.

"See?" Alfred gestured. Ivan made out a number of faint dark shapes in the water.

"And how do you plan on catching them, my little sunflower?"

"With my hands! The water isn't flowing too fast, so it'll be easy!" He tossed his cloak at Ivan and hopped into the knee-deep stream. Lynx fur cloak in hand, Ivan settled down at the base of a tree to watch his consort.

* * *

It was not easy.

The angel wailed in dismay as another fish slipped out of his grasp, somersaulting impressively before it plopped back into the stream. Practically doubled over in laughter, Ivan wiped a tear away from his eye.

Alfred pouted at the chortling demon. "It's not funny, Ivan."

"Nyet, you’re right. It's _hilarious_."

"Like you could do any better," Alfred snorted. "The fish are very slippery. I'd like to see you try." Alfred perked up as an idea came to him. "Hey, you can use your ice magic to freeze the stream! That would make it a lot easier."

Ivan shook his head. "No, dorogoy," he said gently.

Alfred wilted, but didn't press. Ivan didn’t like to feel cold. "You're no fun," he muttered as he dipped down again to wait for the next curious fish.

A few more futile attempts later, Alfred gave up. He climbed out of the stream and walked over to Ivan.

"The fish won," Alfred admitted reluctantly, then yawned. He was all tuckered out from trying to catch fish, and it was nearing the warmest part of the afternoon. Napping in a spot of sunlight sounded really, really nice right now. He snuggled up to Ivan, hoping that the demon would hold him. Being held by Ivan during a nap would feel very nice—Ivan's arms were strong and firm, and his coat was soft enough that Alfred could sink into it a little.

The Dark general obligingly gathered Alfred into his arms; the angel made a small noise of contentment as he nestled into Ivan's chest.

Ah, Alfred was sleepy… His defenses wouldn't be as high up as usual. Maybe this was a good time to ask.

"Fredka," Ivan started, stroking the golden blond's wings, "are you happy at the castle?" _With me_?

"Mhm," Alfred mumbled. "Didn't expect for so many of my guys to end up there, though. Any more, and people will think you're running a brothel. Ivan's Castle for Wayward Angels." He yawned again. He murmured something else that Ivan couldn't catch, but before Ivan could ask Alfred to repeat himself, he heard the sound of soft snoring.

Alfred must be exhausted; he only snored when he was very worn out. Smiling fondly at his dozing consort, Ivan continued to run his fingers through the downy feathers.

A loud rustling stilled his hand.

"I saw it land somewhere around here…"

A ragtag gang of demons emerged from the shadows of nearby trees. The rustling sound had come from the large nets that some were holding; several of them were clutching cruel-looking harpoons coated in dried blood and crushed feathers.

Ivan froze. These were no ordinary bandits—they were angel slavers, outlaws who captured and broke angels to sell at auctions. They had been common in the first years of the war, but Francis had found the practice abhorrent and cracked down harshly. For them to show up now…

Ivan tightened his grip on the angel in his lap.


	8. Criminal III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan deals with the angel slavers. Alfred realizes the consequences of his wartime decisions.

The angel slavers caught sight of Ivan and stopped at the edge of the small clearing.

"Who told you idiots to stop looking?" Their leader, a brawny demon with a bullhide whip coiled around his arm, roughly shoved aside a couple of his underlings and made his way to the front.

He stared at Ivan. "And who the fuck are you?" The demon slid his gaze down to Alfred. His lips curled into a sneer. "Found the angel, have you? Hand it over, and no one gets hurt."

Ivan snarled. "He is spoken for. Leave."

The outlaw leader crossed his arms and examined the unexpected stranger. Expensive-looking clothes, neatly combed hair, not a speck of dirt on his face or hands… Was that a golden bracelet he saw on the angel's wrist? A prissy noble with his little pampered pet, then. Probably out on a day trip to the countryside.

Easy pickings.

He shot a smirk at Ivan. "You seem like the well-off, respectable sort. Would be a real shame if something happened to you, huh?"

The Dark general narrowed his eyes into amethyst slits. "Are you threatening me?" They must have not recognized him—little surprise there, considering that Ivan was out of uniform and had been away at the warfront in Heaven for so long.

Alfred, however... The slavers didn't seem to be aware of who exactly they had been tracking.

Ivan couldn't let them find out.

The burly demon guffawed as he made a show of slowly uncoiling his whip. "It's one of you against all of us." He waved a hand at the bandits around him. "Give us the angel, and we'll even let you have a turn after we test out the goods. Can think of a lot of folks who'd be real interested in a pretty little thing like that. Shit, they probably won't even care it's been claimed before—might pay more, actually, since it's had experience and all."

Nostrils flaring in anger, Ivan clutched Alfred tighter in his arms and unfurled his membrane wings.

The gang advanced, forming a semi-circle around the pair. The whip-wielding demon leaned forward, squinting. The little bitch was prettier up close, but there was something familiar about that face… His jaw dropped.

"Is that _General Jones_?"

The other slavers crowded closer, clamoring—"There's no way," "Isn't Jones _dead_?"—until their leader loudly snapped his whip in the air.

"Shut up, you lot," he roared. He smirked unpleasantly at Ivan. "We _definitely_ won't be letting you two go anywhere now. If we sell him, we'd never have to hunt again." He took a step forward. "We'd be swimming in gold. Heck, we'd make a fortune just whoring him out ourselves—"

Ivan saw red. With a low growl, he shifted Alfred to the crook of his left arm, raised his right hand, and called forth his magic.

"What the _fuck_ are you—" The rest of the burly bandit's sentence was cut off as a powerful blizzard battered the clearing. A thin layer of ice crystallized on the surface of the stream. Bringing Alfred to his chest, Ivan wrapped his wings around them.

The demon general gritted his teeth as he felt the blood chill in his veins, cold radiate outwards from the marrow of his bones. Alfred shivered in his embrace, but it couldn't be helped.

When Ivan dropped his wings again, there was a small statuary surrounding him and Alfred. Ivan smiled grimly at the slavers' leader, whose face was paralyzed in an expression of complete astonishment.

"We will be going now, da?" Ivan closed his hand into a fist. The hoarfrost-coated demons shattered into dark crimson shards. Their weapons clattered to the frozen ground.

Alfred whimpered at the noise.

"Sorry, lapochka," Ivan murmured. He stroked the angel's hair and bundled him more tightly in the lynx fur cloak. As he bent down to pick up the picnic basket, the platinum blond's eyes wandered to the stream.

Ah… Alfred would doubtlessly wonder why Ivan was so cold when he woke up. Ivan could not let Alfred know about the slavers.

Mind made up, he set Alfred down gently on a patch of untouched grass and headed towards the water. What had been in the currents remained there still, unmoving. The picnic basket would be able to fit two fish, perhaps three if Ivan were adamant.

* * *

Alfred stretched luxuriously as he awoke from his nap. He was lying on something soft—oh, Ivan had taken him back to Katya's cottage. But why was it so cold in the room?

He opened his eyes with a yawn. Ivan was at the window, facing outside. Ivan must have not noticed that Alfred was up, because the demon didn't move.

With a wriggle of his hips, Alfred squirmed to the edge of the bed and made his way over to Ivan. He put his arms around the demon's waist. _Ivan_ was very cold.

A little noise of confusion left Alfred's lips. "Why are you so chilly, Vanya?"

The Dark general stiffened. For a moment, he didn't respond, but then he turned around. Carefully untangling Alfred's arms from around him, Ivan rested his hand on the small of the angel's back and guided him back to the bed.

Ivan sat down. "I caught some fish for Katyusha while you were sleeping."

"Really?" Alfred beamed. "Awesome!" He plopped onto Ivan's lap, twined his arms around Ivan's neck, and enfolded his wings around them, forming a warm cocoon.

"Thank you, Fredka." Ivan started to stroke the base of Alfred's wings.

Humming happily, the golden blond tucked his head under Ivan's jaw.

* * *

Ivan had turned in early for the night, citing a headache, so it was only Alfred and Katya in the cozy den, now, as the flame crackled merrily in the fireplace.

Mug of Katya's special lemon tea in hand, Alfred curled up on an armchair with a cheerful yellow print, contentedly watching the demoness weave on her floor loom.

Katya was a wonderful weaver. She passed the boat shuttle from one side to the other and pulled the beater forward with barely a break in between the movements. She had said that she was making something for Alfred, a surprise. It would be ready for him by the time that he and Ivan went back to the castle.

_Clack. Clack. Clack._

"Did you have fun today, Fedya?" She turned to the angel with a smile, most of her attention still on her weaving.

"Yeah! Ivan and I went swimming at a lake, and then we went fishing. The fish were pretty tricky to catch, but Ivan used his magic."

Katya's smile widened. "They were delicious! Oh, it's such a shame that you can only eat fruit here, Fedya. I am sure that you would have liked how Vanya prepared them—he is an excellent cook, but he just doesn't have the time when he's at the castle.

"You know," Katya continued, twisting around back to her loom, "I don't think I've ever seen Vanya so happy before. You're very good for him."

She passed the shuttle through the shed too quickly; it clicked against the side of the loom as it fell. Shaking her head, Katya tugged the shuttle back up.

"Will you stay by his side, Fedya? Vanya would never admit it, but he gets so lonely. He was away at the war for such a long time... When he returned, he told me that he was afraid the castle wouldn't feel like home anymore, that everything would feel too cold.

"I was so worried at first—poor Vanya, he's never cared for the cold, not even as a boy—but then he started writing to me about you; every letter is Fedya this, Fedya that. He is so very fond of you, he said once that you make the castle feel warm, just by being there… Fedya? D-did I say something wrong? Why are you crying? Fedya?"

* * *

Katya was kind enough to not press about last night. She gave Alfred a look of concern as she handed him a steaming mug of lemon tea this morning, but relaxed when Alfred smiled at her. She had patted his hand reassuringly before she left to start breakfast.

Alfred hoped Katya wouldn't mention it to Ivan—it was embarrassing enough already, and if Ivan found out, he'd get that _look_ on his face, like he had a question on the tip of his tongue but was too afraid to ask it. Alfred had been getting real sick of that expression over the past few weeks.

Alfred didn't even know why he got so emotional, all of a sudden, when Katya started talking about home. The castle _was_ Ivan's home—where else would he go? He _lived_ there—but no, apparently it was only home to Ivan when Alfred was there.

Gods, Ivan was such a sap. What did it matter if Alfred was there or not? Ivan was so stupid. After the heating system was set up, the castle would be warm all the time, and Ivan wouldn't be cold anymore, and Alfred could—well, Ivan didn't plan on ever letting Alfred go, did he? Alfred would be stuck in the Underworld forever.

The angel pulled the hood over his head and burrowed into his cloak, digging his fingers into the thick fur.

It was fine. Ivan treated him well enough, far better than Alfred had expected, actually. He indulged Alfred's requests to fly and gave Alfred nice things, like the cloak.

Alfred had felt much better about accepting the cloak after he sucked Ivan off yesterday. He didn't need Ivan to think that Alfred didn't pay his dues, or that he was ungrateful. Ivan had said that he didn't want anything in return, but Alfred knew how this sort of thing worked. He wasn't _naïve_. If Ivan wanted more as payment, Alfred would give it to him once they were back at the castle—Alfred _really_ liked the cloak, and sleeping with Ivan wasn't _un_ pleasant.

But… Ivan wouldn't think that Alfred was slutty because of the blowjob, would he?

Suddenly uneasy, Alfred picked at a few strands of the mink trimming.

He had been so careful to not do more than he needed to, had backed off as soon as he was done servicing Ivan. Ivan had seemed to enjoy it a lot; it wasn't because he was secretly laughing at how promiscuous his consort was, right? Ivan _wouldn't_ , Alfred wasn't clingy, and even though he had slipped up a few times over the past few days, Alfred had been _so_ good about giving Ivan his space and resisting Ivan's touches, no matter how nice they felt—

A strong arm wound around Alfred's shoulders, and the angel forced himself to not flinch.

"You are up early, lapochka." Ivan's voice was still a sleepy rumble.

"Mhm. Um, morning, Ivan. What are we doing today?"

Ivan untangled himself from his sweet-smelling consort and settled in one of the chairs at the dining table.

"I was thinking that we would go to a market nearby, to stock up on groceries for Katyusha. We are also running low on fruit."

"Are we flying there?" Alfred's cerulean eyes were bright and hopeful.

"Nyet, we will walk there, it is a short distance away."

"Oh. Okay."

Ivan frowned as Alfred drooped in his seat. Alfred was obviously disappointed, but Ivan would not budge from his position on this—the Underworld was dangerous for angels, and Alfred in particular, as yesterday had reminded him. Ivan would do all that was within his power to protect Alfred from harm.

* * *

The local market was small but bustling. The stalls were crammed into narrow lanes, and the vendors loudly hawked their wares.

"Eggs, fresh eggs laid today!"

"All kinds of honey! Acacia, clover, orange blossom! Get your honey here!"

"Apples and pears! Picked at the orchard this morning!"

Hand holding Alfred's wrist, Ivan guided his consort to the fruit seller, a middle-aged demon with a beard.

"Hello, Nikolay."

"My, there's a face I haven't seen in a while! General Braginsky, how many years has it been since you last visited? Five? Six?" Nikolay gave the Dark general a handshake and a hearty clap on the back, grinning.

Ivan chuckled, shaking his head. "You know there is no need for formalities, not with how long you have known Katyusha and me. You must have put up with her fretting for years. Da, I have just come back from the war a few months ago."

"Well, it's great to have you back! You're in better condition than I expected—heard it's even colder up in Heaven." Nikolay craned around to peer at the hooded figure by Ivan's side. "And who is this?"

Ivan pulled the hood of the cloak back as he gently nudged Alfred forward. "This is my consort, Alfred."

Alfred smiled politely at the fruit seller, who gaped at him before he gave a weak smile in return.

"Alfred, huh… He looks lovely. Good for you, Ivan." Nikolay cleared his throat. "What can I help you with today? The apples from this crop are great! We've got six different kinds…"

* * *

Alfred pressed closer to Ivan as the platinum blond made his final rounds around the market. Alfred had offered to help Ivan carry the groceries. To Alfred's consternation, the demon had refused.

Part of it was that Alfred wanted to be useful; the other part was that he could hide his face behind the bunches of leafy greens. The vendors—almost all of whom knew Ivan pretty well—were… weird. It wasn't that anyone at the market was overtly unfriendly to him, but the demons' smiles, which were warm and genuine when directed at Ivan, grew strained after Ivan introduced Alfred.

They complimented Alfred on his appearance and told Ivan how lucky he was to have such a beautiful consort; when Alfred left with Ivan, however, soft murmuring began behind them. It was about him, Alfred was sure—he had definitely heard his name come up a few times.

"Fredka, I just need to buy some eggs for Katyusha, and then we can go home, okay?"

Alfred nodded.

An older demoness with white-streaked hair in a bun was rearranging the display when they stopped at the stall. She looked up and smiled when she saw Ivan.

Alfred zoned out of their conversation until Ivan gestured to him. The demoness glanced at him. Something flashed in her eyes.

"Go ahead and get some bread for your sister. Your consort will be fine here with me, I'll keep an eye on him," she shooed Ivan away.

Ivan looked at Alfred apologetically. "Sorry, lapochka. Katyusha mentioned the other day that she would like some bread from the market, and Elena has informed me that the stall usually packs up early. I will not make it if I do not run."

"Mmkay."

After setting down the bag of groceries, Ivan rustled Alfred's hair and departed, leaving him alone with the egg seller.

"Alfred Jones, hm? The Light general."

Alfred blinked at her, surprised. "You've heard of me?"

Elena laughed bitterly. "Who hasn't? In the Underworld, you're the only angel anyone ever talks about. Practically everyone has lost a loved one to you, or knows someone who did." She crossed her arms. "You killed my son-in-law. He was a good boy, good to my daughter. They were going to start a family together after he came back, but one of your bullets got him a few days before he was set to come home. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Oh," Alfred whispered. He shrank into the cloak. "I'm so sorry."

Elena studied him in silence for a while. "It's war," she finally said, voice rough, and sighed.

"You be good to Ivan, you hear? We might not forgive you for what you did, but we've all known Ivan and his sister for years. Ivan deserves to be happy."

"Yes, ma'am. I, um, I'll be good."

She gave Alfred a faint smile. "Gods, you're so young. You've got a lot of life ahead of you, child. Use it well."

Before Alfred could respond—what was he supposed to say to _that_?—Ivan returned with a basket of bread. He sagged in relief at seeing everything as he left it.

"Alfred wasn't any trouble, was he, Elena?"

"No, no, he behaved himself. Truth be told, Ivan, we didn't expect for you to take _Jones_ as your consort, what with all that he's done, but you know that we just want to see you happy. He's a pretty one, and if he makes you happy, then we're pleased."

"Oh, Fredka makes me very happy," Ivan smiled down at the angel.

"A little happiness is all that any of us can ask for in times like these," the demoness replied, starting to pack up her stall. "Take care, now. And tell your sister that I said hi!"

"Da, da. Thank you again, Elena." Ivan hefted the bag of groceries up in his free arm and turned to Alfred. "Let's head back, dorogoy."

* * *

Alfred had insisted on carrying the basket of bread, but his consort had been otherwise very quiet during their trip back, Ivan reflected as he rinsed off a few apples to peel. Had Elena said something to him? Elena was very dependable—he wouldn't have felt comfortable leaving Alfred alone with just anyone—but she did have a way of speaking that was exceedingly blunt at times.

Ivan neatly cored and sliced the peeled apples. He arranged them on a plate with a painted flower and brought Alfred's lunch to the dining table, where the angel was curled up in a chair with his cloak. He didn't seem interested in the fruit at all, Ivan noted with disapproval.

"Fedya, you must eat," the Dark general chided.

Alfred reached out a hand to the fruit half-heartedly, then dropped it.

"I hurt a lot of people, Ivan." Alfred tilted his head up to meet Ivan's gaze. "I killed Elena's son-in-law. He was supposed to go back home to his family. I—I took that from him."

Ivan bit his lip. Ah, he had dreaded Alfred finding out—and certainly not like this—but it had been inevitable. There was no avoiding it, now.

"Da, Alfred. You did." The Dark general did not try to deny it.

The angel's eyes welled up. A tear slid down his cheek, two, and he was crying, body heaving with helpless sobs.

Ivan's gaze softened. Alfred was still so young, he mused as he collected Alfred in his arms and started to pet the golden hair and wings. Ivan's men—thousands of them, legions of them—had perished under Alfred's magic, under the hand of the little trembling creature who was clinging to Ivan like a lifeline. Ivan should be furious, should hate Alfred—

But the dead, they were gone, and Alfred, lovely, sweet Alfred, who was scarcely more than a boy, really, in the grand scheme of things, was _here_ , shining as radiantly as ever.

Alfred, who was dangerous not because he wanted to be, but because he had been—whether he realized it or not—forced to be, by his circumstances, by the immensity of his own raw power.

Alfred, who had clutched Ivan's head to his chest and told him to not be so hard on himself, who had forgiven Ivan for his cruelty and brutality with the open-hearted ease of a child: unjaded, unconditional.

Alfred, who, despite all his experience on the battlefield, despite having had to grow up too fast, was still too young to know how to show himself the kindness that he was capable of.

Alfred was worthy of a second chance, Ivan thought as he soothed his shaking consort. A second chance, and much more.

Yes. Conviction struck Ivan with startling clarity. No matter how long it took, Ivan would teach Alfred to forgive himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did y'all think that alfred being a war criminal was gonna be swept under the rug? yeah, no


	9. Criminal IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curious about his part in the war, Alfred pressures Ivan to take him to the museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have some more worldbuilding!

This was a terrible idea— _insane_ , actually, once Ivan really thought about it—but across from him, Alfred had the same steely determination in his eyes as on the day he and Ivan had dueled for the angel's freedom. Specifically, as when the angel had plummeted to the ground with his divine blade pointed towards his heart.

How appropriate, since this was clearly a suicide mission as well.

Alfred should be back at the castle, working on one of his projects or reading or playing with Blini, not—this. Not sitting in a carriage on its way to the museum commemorating the Light-Dark War, not ten minutes away from being in a building where _all_ of the demons knew him by the blood he had shed, not going where all of the demons wanted his blood as retribution.

Alfred was headstrong, far too stubborn for his own good. Nevertheless, Ivan had to try, one last time.

"Fredka—"

" _No_ , Ivan," The golden blond snapped. "We are not having this conversation again." He glared at Ivan, cerulean eyes fierce. "This is non-negotiable. _I am going there_. I'm so sick and tired of you all trying to hide stuff from me—first Arthur and Francis with the halo, and now you. Fuck, what _is_ it with everyone trying to keep me ignorant? Do you think that I'm too young to handle it, or something?"

"Er, no," Ivan stammered, although that had been kind of exactly along the lines of what Ivan was thinking. "I just think that you might not like what you find, lapochka," he said gently.

"I know." Swallowing, Alfred averted his gaze to the side. "But I have to _know_."

* * *

"Wow, I think that's the tackiest thing I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of tacky shit."

"Da," Ivan sighed. "I told them that it was entirely unnecessary, but they persisted."

Alfred tapped his chin in thought as he examined the life-size bronze sculpture of the Dark general riding Ladya. "They made your nose too big," he decided finally, "and drape of your coat makes you look fat."

The angel brightened and clicked his fingers. "Hey, you know what, they should've done a nude casting instead! That way, you could show off your muscles and your cool scars and your _massive—"_

Ivan clapped a hand over the golden blond's mouth, cutting him off.

"Thank you for your input, Alfred," the demon ground out between gritted teeth. "Please kindly refrain from bringing up my cock—or anyone else's, for that matter—while we are in a public space. We may discuss my penis as you wish when we are back at the castle."

Ivan wasn't loud—certainly not as loud as Alfred had been—but the beaming mother who had been herding her son towards them must have heard him anyway, because she looked scandalized and abruptly steered the child in another direction. Ivan caught snippets of horrified whispers as the pair hurried away: "What kind of war hero…. no sense of decorum… no, sweetie, that wasn't General Braginsky…."

Ivan flushed in mortification. Alfred blinked innocently at him.

Wonderful. They had been inside the museum for the grand total of five minutes, were only on the first exhibit, and already rumors that Ivan was a sexual deviant lacking all propriety were spreading. There was just no winning, was there?

The Dark general dropped his hand, defeated.

"Yeah, Ivan, you should really watch what you say in a place like this. Lots of young, impressionable minds, yanno?" Alfred laced his fingers primly in front of him, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Maybe I should keep a little distance, too… Don't want people thinking I'm also a perv who talks about inappropriate stuff around kids, haha." He drew up the hood of his cloak.

" _Alfred—_ "

"Bye, Vanya! I'll find you later!" Dancing out of the reach of Ivan's grasping hand, Alfred vanished into the crowd in a swirl of white fur.

Ivan buried his face in his scarf and stamped down the urge to scream. Vodka… A shot or ten of vodka sounded _incredible_ right now.

* * *

Alfred had wandered through most of the exhibits, but he hadn't found the section on the angel generals yet. There was plenty on Gil and Ludwig and Toni and Francis, and a _ton_ on Ivan, since the museum was in the Northern Territories, where Ivan enforced royal rule.

He had learned a lot—fun biographical facts, mostly. Arthur, who had been in charge of intelligence and invasion, had filled Alfred and the other Light generals in on the military-related stuff during the war, like how Gil was really good at military logistics, drilling and disciplining troops, and maneuver warfare, and grew more powerful on the battlefield with every drop of blood that he spilled.

Ludwig helped his brother with logistics and strategy, but spent most of his time away from the warfront, developing better technology. Some of his designs were very impressive. Even Alfred, who was picky when it came to this sort of thing, thought so—the assault rifles were sleek and the tanks were streamlined and economical, though they ultimately couldn't withstand Alfred's endless barrages of bullets.

But Artie hadn't mentioned that Gilbert practically raised Ludwig, or that Gilbert kept a personal blog and Ludwig had three dogs. It made sense, Alfred reflected; Gil had always been super proud of his brother, and constantly talked about how awesome Ludwig was during his nights with Alfred.

Ludwig hadn't been quite so enthusiastic when Alfred asked him about Gilbert. In fact, Ludwig had blushed and stuttered or outright clammed up whenever Alfred brought up anything that wasn't related to engineering or rationalist philosophy or the war, but Francis had told Alfred to try to avoid that last topic whenever possible, so Alfred just spent most of his time with Ludwig gagged and trying to not choke on his spit. Ludwig was kind of _really_ kinky, and even though he definitely knew what he was doing with a whip, the leather and latex got uncomfortable after a few hours. Way too little airflow. Poor Feli found their military uniforms too scratchy, so Alfred couldn't even imagine how he was handling the BDSM stuff.

Alfred hoped that Lovino was doing better with Antonio. Toni was a _beast_ on the battlefield, with his enormous axe and fire magic—the pyromania hadn't helped—but he smelled delicious, like chocolate and smokey cinnamon, and was very passionate in bed. Alfred hadn't been a fan of the blood play; Lovino could probably deal with it, though. While Feliciano was an expert in evasion, Lovino had specialized in assassination and seduction. Back when he had been a general, Alfred had teased the brunet angel for it: why would an angel _—_ much less an angel _general—_ need to know how to seduce someone? And then it turned out that, out of all of them, Lovino was the most prepared for his life as a captive in the Underworld.

Alfred shook his head morosely. He and Lovino used to be pretty tight—the other general was a _riot_ to be around when he wasn't behind the wheel or just waking up from a siesta. Lovino would swear up a storm during their film noir nights and bitch about how Alfred needed to get _real_ pizza and better taste, bastard, but he'd still stay until the credits rolled and scarf down cold slices with Alfred after the popcorn was polished off.

…Would Alfred get to see Lovino again? Maybe if Alfred were good, Ivan would let him visit. Did Toni let Lovino see his brother? Ivan might know. Alfred made a mental note to ask later.

He knew that Francis rarely let Arthur out of his sight, and Francis spent most of his time in his palace, taking care of kingly duties. Francis' "kingly duties" had looked an awful lot like pushing his paperwork on Arthur, pestering Arthur until the green-eyed angel's eyebrows were twitching all over the place like giant caterpillars, and making fun of Arthur's admittedly shitty cooking.

How had Francis put it that one time he allowed Artie in the kitchens? " _Mon lapin_ , that you can only eat fruit here is the greatest gift the gods have ever bestowed on the realms." Arthur promptly shoved a burnt scone down Francis' throat; Francis had fainted. After delivering a vicious kick to his prone form, Arthur walked away whistling something by The Beatles.

Alfred still didn't really understand why Arthur would give his halo to _Francis_. Arthur had said that it was to protect Alfred, but from what?

Well, he mused, that was why he was here. To find out what exactly he had done that would warrant Arthur's fear and justify Arthur's decision.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred saw Arthur's visage. He turned and—oh, _there_ it was, the exhibit on the Light generals. It was much less eye-catching than the demons', tucked away in a dimly-lit corner of the museum. Nevertheless, there were a number of visitors gathered around the displays, and one in particular…

Alfred walked towards the exhibit. There were only four displays. That was good, because that meant the Dark forces probably didn't know about Mattie. Mattie, with his knack for concealment—how cool was it to have a twin who could _actually_ turn invisible?—must have been working his magic hard to stay hidden for this long. Alfred had been the last resort, but Mattie was the last, _last_ resort. Until the demons found Mattie and the stronghold that he commanded, there was absolutely no chance that Heaven would surrender.

Alfred was close enough to see some details now. He heaved a silent sigh of relief. Just as he thought, there were only ones for Arthur, Feli, Lovino, and him. He headed for the biggest, shiniest display without hesitation. Of course, it would be Alfred's: he was the hero! Except, to the demons, he would be the opposite of a hero—what was that? Antihero? Villain? Still, he deserved the biggest, shiniest display.

Alfred nudged past the demons who had been blocking his view—huh, the photo that they selected for his exhibit was actually kind of flattering, Alfred looked pretty good—and gasped. Was that _Betsy_? He hadn't seen good ol' Betsy in _forever_ —he thought that he had lost his revolver during the last battle before he was captured. Had she been in this stuffy Underworld museum the whole time?

Alfred pressed his face to the glass case. Yep, there was that long scratch on the barrel from the fight that he had gotten into with Arthur when he moved out of the Tudor and into his own place. She was pristine otherwise; Alfred had taken excellent care of Betsy. The museum most likely wouldn't let him have his revolver back, but at least she was safe and cared for here. He'd hate for her to be rusting in a deserted battlefield somewhere.

"No touching the glass." A security guard tapped Alfred on the shoulder. The angel jumped.

"Right, sorry!" Alfred took a hasty step backwards. He bumped into a demon standing behind him. The hood of his cloak slipped off.

The demon turned around, scowling. "Hey! Watch it!" He caught sight of Alfred trying frantically to tug his hood back up. The demon's eyes widened almost comically large before sweeping upwards to the portrait in the display.

" _Alfred F. Jones?"_

Silence fell heavy like a stone. All movement paused for a second, then every head nearby swiveled towards the angel.

"Uh… hi?" Alfred smiled weakly.

* * *

 _Where did Alfred go?_ Ivan growled in frustration as he combed fruitlessly through yet another exhibit. The museum was modest; the war was not yet over, and there was only so much that could be covered before its decisive conclusion. It shouldn't have been so difficult to find the golden blond. Ivan was preparing to search in a different section when the sound of angry shouting reached him.

"—what you've done? More than half of the Dark army, and most of the soldiers you killed had already surrendered, you _monster_. A _quarter_ of the demon population. How _dare_ you show your face here, _how in Tartarus are you alive_ —"

Ivan made a beeline for the source of the commotion, roughly shoving aside curious observers as he made his way to the center of the throng.

A heavyset demon was yelling at Alfred. One hand gripped the angel's shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

Alfred looked on the verge of tears.

" _Stop_." Ivan's voice boomed through the small space. The temperature dropped.

The demon whirled around. "G-General Braginsky?" Surprise etched his features.

"Unhand him," Ivan commanded.

Slack-jawed, the demon complied. Alfred immediately ducked his head and pressed against Ivan's side.

"General Braginsky, that angel is _dangerous_. You know best of all what he is capable of, with what he did to your troops—"

"Alfred is mine now," the platinum blond grabbed Alfred's wrist and held it up so that the golden cuff was visible. "He is my consort. He will not harm anyone else."

The demon who had yelled at Alfred wore a stunned expression. "But why…" He trailed off. Suddenly, his eyebrows shot up, as if he had just realized something.

"Right, your _consort_." The demon winked at Ivan. "A wise decision, General Braginsky." His lips twisted into a lecherous smirk. "It is only fair, with the anguish that he has caused you, that Jones should serve you and your men for the rest of his miserable life. What a fitting punishment, and doubtlessly a fine incentive for your soldiers. Surely you intend to make him repent for his war crimes."

Alfred stiffened. _Serving Ivan's men? Ivan wouldn't…_ Ivan's words from the night that Alfred fought the Basilisk returned. It hadn't really been Ivan, though—only an illusion, Alfred reminded himself.

 _Still_ … Alfred bit his lip. Maybe it was typical for consorts to be shared. Or maybe Ivan would give Alfred to his men when Alfred was no good anymore. Or maybe none of the usual rules applied, because Alfred had done such _awful_ things during the war and needed to repent for them. Was being Ivan's consort a _punishment?_

The angel whimpered quietly, distressed.

"My intentions with him are none of your business," Ivan responded to the demon in a voice edged with ice. The Dark general curled an arm around Alfred's waist reassuringly; his poor consort must have been terrified by the aggressive assault.

"Come, lapochka," Ivan murmured as he guided the angel towards the museum exit, away from gaping spectators. "I think you have learned enough for today."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Lovino vibe super well together, but Alfred never gives Lovino a nickname because the one time that he called Lovino "Vinny" after they watched _My Cousin Vinny_ together, Lovino kicked him so hard in the nuts, Alfred couldn't sit right for a week. Yeah, film noir nights turn into laughing-at-rom-coms nights pretty quickly for them.
> 
> Feel free to drop questions in my Tumblr ask box for other fun headcanons about the generals; I don't have any plans currently to write stories about them (we'll get half a story about Mattie), but they're lots of fun to think about! I love vibrant, three-dimensional characters.


	10. Criminal V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred explains his rationale for his wartime actions. Repentance, home, and a ritual.

"Thank you, Toris," Ivan smiled gratefully as he took the supper tray from his Head Housekeeper. "You may collect the dishes in the morning."

"Yes, Master Braginsky." Toris sniffed the air, then craned around the demon to peer at the trembling figure on the settee. "Is Alfred all right?" Concern filled his voice.

"Da, he will be fine." Ivan dismissed the brunet with a wave of his hand and closed the suite door. He carefully made his way to the settee, making sure that the mug of steaming liquid on the tray didn't spill.

"Dorogoy, it is time for supper. Toris used Katyusha's recipe to make some of the sweet lemon tea that you like."

Face buried in his knees, Alfred curled up tighter. "I don't want any."

Ivan sighed. The angel had been inconsolable after they had returned from the museum in the late afternoon—nestled against Ivan's side, he had wiped away tears silently throughout the carriage ride home, and began crying in earnest once Ivan brought him into the suite. Ivan was not quite sure whether Alfred was upset because of what he had learned about the war, or because of how the demon at the museum had treated him.

Absently, he wondered if it would be impossible to track down and personally, ah, _chastise_ the demon for being so aggressive with Alfred, even though the demon had technically acted within his rights.

Ivan had held Alfred for the past few hours, petting his wings and his hair, until his sobs had quietened into sniffles. While the angel was no longer near-hysterical, he was still emotionally fragile.

Regardless of how he felt, however, Alfred had to eat.

"Fredka, if you do not have your dinner, I will be angry."

Alfred shuddered. Ivan held a slice of plum to his consort's mouth, humming in satisfaction when the angel obediently parted his lips.

"Good boy," Ivan murmured once the former Light general had finished the last of the fruit. He set down the plate, wiped the juice from his fingers with a napkin, patted Alfred on the head, and started on his own meal. The borscht was already cold, so it scarcely mattered that feeding Alfred had taken a while.

Alfred leaned against Ivan's arm as the demon ate.

"Ivan," he whimpered when he heard the scrape of Ivan's spoon against china, "did I _really_ kill sixty percent of the demon army? One in four demons overall?"

Ivan stacked the empty plates on the tray. "Da. It is only an approximation, of course, but the numbers are not far off."

"Oh gods," Alfred moaned, covering his face with his hands as he performed the calculations in his head. _With how many men Ivan had…_ "I killed _thousands_ of people. I ruined so many families." His voice quavered.

"Lapochka," the demon said gently, "did you not realize how many soldiers you shot while you were at war? You must have had a rough idea."

"I didn't know it was _that many_ , Ivan. My bullets never missed, but sometimes I didn't know if I was aiming at corpses or live targets. I was too far away and I lost track in the thick of things." Alfred drooped against Ivan. "All I knew was that I had to keep shooting."

"Fedya, I am not angry or being judgmental—the past is past—but why did you keep killing after we surrendered?" That point had been bothering Ivan since the first time he had waged battle against Alfred and lost. "As a general, you certainly must have learned the principles of the Law of War—military necessity, proportionality, and such. You must know that it is a war crime to grant no quarter."

" _Of course_ I know about the Rules of Engagement, Ivan!" Alfred huffed. "I had to memorize all of them before I could set foot on the battlefield. It's just—well, my specialty was defense. The angels didn't anticipate that the war would come so close to Heaven. We thought that Arthur and Lovino and Feli—okay, scratch that, maybe not Feli—would have taken care of everything, since they were in charge of offensive operations. I guess that the military codes of conduct for the angels and demons are pretty similar for offensive stuff, but they're kind of murky when it comes to defense. Heaven's self-defense laws basically boil down to 'stop the hostile force by any means necessary.'"

Ivan stared at the angel, horrified. "Although we were not an imminent threat? Surely surrendered troops would not constitute such."

"The definition of 'imminent' isn't really set in stone in Heaven's laws, so I focused more on the 'threat' part. And your soldiers were a threat, Ivan. I couldn't not do anything, because the Dark army was _right there_ at our doorstep." Alfred jerkily ran a hand through his hair. "The angels value efficiency. Like, a lot. I thought that I was being efficient by killing all the enemies I saw, because if I didn't, they'd just return, right? And then I would be dealing with the same problem a week later or something, and the war would _never_ end, and if I slipped up even once, my home would be _destroyed._

"And I fucked up—Ivan, I let everyone down. The angels all hate me, the demons all hate me, too. I just—fuck, back in Heaven, back at home, I wouldn't be a war criminal, they'd understand." Alfred's voice had grown increasingly frantic as he spoke, until the angel was practically hyperventilating. "Everything would still be _fine_. Or at least better than it is right now." The former Light general looked positively wretched.

Ivan stroked Alfred's feathers. He had been at a loss for words throughout Alfred's explanation, but the angel's final sentences sent a jolt through him.

 _Home…_ Ivan narrowed his eyes. "I cannot let you return to Heaven, Alfred. It would be too much of a liability. If I am under the impression that you are planning to escape, I will have no choice but to use the chains. I know that you dislike them."

Alfred nodded, tears slipping down his cheeks again. Ivan's gaze softened.

"There, there," the demon soothed. "Let me help take your mind off of it." Ivan tenderly grasped Alfred's hand, kissed the inside of the slim wrist. "Let me take care of you." Sex would hopefully calm Alfred down.

Besides, his consort smelled absolutely _divine_. Ivan felt a small stab of guilt at the thought—Alfred was obviously distraught—but it was undeniable. The air in the room was so heavy with the delicious scent of cardamom and apricots and summer that it was almost palpable, and very distracting.

Alfred immediately tensed.

"J-just you?"

Ivan frowned against the supple skin and glanced up. "Uh, yes." Was Alfred expecting there to be someone else?

…Did Alfred _want_ there to be someone else?

A sudden hot flare of jealousy swept through the platinum blond.

But the response seemed to have placated Alfred, because an expression of relief spread across his face.

"Okay," the angel whispered, and reached out his arms for Ivan to carry him to bed.

* * *

Basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking, Ivan idly traced the bruises he had sucked and bitten into Alfred's skin. He had gotten a little carried away, perhaps. There were dark marks all along the curve of the angel's neck, around his collarbones, on his shoulders. They would fade in a few hours, however, and tomorrow morning Alfred would again wake up with nothing showing that he was _Ivan's_ —

"Um, you're not mad at me, are you?" Alfred was fidgeting with a pillow in his lap, kneading it and smoothing out the wrinkles as they formed.

Ivan's hand paused. "No, dorogoy. Why would you think that?"

Alfred tilted his head in response, exposing the hickeys on his throat. "They're not for what I did during the war?"

"Ah, no, Fredka. I am sorry if I have hurt you."

"Okay, then." The angel sounded doubtful. He turned to Ivan. "Why _aren't_ you mad? I did a lot of bad things to the men under your command, Ivan."

"Well," Ivan said slowly. He had been wondering when he and Alfred would have this conversation, and had spent days pondering the best way to approach it. "That was you in the past. You were kept ignorant on certain matters so that you could fulfill your duty. You based your actions on assumptions that you now realize are incorrect. Which is to say, you have learned. Now you know better. Who you were during the war is not who you are in the present." He collected the golden blond in his arms. "You were a general, and now you are my consort. I will not blame you for your former transgressions, nor will I hold them over you."

Alfred processed Ivan's speech silently. What Ivan said made sense, he supposed. But when Ivan had asked for him, back in Francis' palace, Ivan had only known Alfred as the Light general who slaughtered his troops. Alfred hadn't been Ivan's consort. He hadn't even known that would be a possibility then, so why…?

Ivan was still talking. _Oops_. "—you're alive. All that matters is what you do from now on."

 _Huh._ "You forgive very easily, Vanya," Alfred commented, leaning back against the demon's broad chest.

The Dark general brushed Alfred's bangs to the side.

"You forgave me first, lapochka."

"I did?" Alfred crinkled his nose, looking adorably confused. "The day that you almost drowned me in the lake? Because I thought I only forgave you for _that_ …"

Ivan chuckled. "Nyet, dorogoy. You do not necessarily need words to convey forgiveness. You forgave me with your actions long before then. You have been very sweet to me, Fedya," the demon pecked Alfred's forehead, "even though I have not always been kind to you. You saved my life after the Manticore incident. I do not forget that."

"...All right." In the moment, it hadn't _felt_ like he was forgiving Ivan. It just didn't seem _right_ for Alfred to not help. But maybe what was right had been the same as being forgiving, Alfred really wasn't sure.

So Ivan forgave him. But what about the other demons?

The demon at the museum had looked _furious_ , a second away from ripping Alfred apart limb by limb. The demon had said that he needed to repent, that he would repent as Ivan's consort. But what did repenting _mean_? And for how long would Alfred have to do it?

…Forever?

Alfred wriggled on Ivan's lap, discomforted by the thought. Being Ivan's consort _forever_ … That would definitely be preferable to being given to Ivan's men forever. What if Ivan wanted a different consort, though, and didn't want Alfred anymore?

The angel shivered.

"Am I going to be repenting for the rest of my life, Ivan?" Alfred's voice was small.

Ivan considered the question.

"Repentance can take many forms, Fredka." He massaged the base of the angel's wings, and Alfred relaxed into the touch. "The past cannot be erased, and it cannot be changed. But repentance is, in some ways, a chance to start a new life. Finding a new home." He pressed down particularly hard into the junction where the downy feathers began on Alfred's back. "You do not need to change yourself completely to be happy. Often, having something familiar in your new environment will help you adjust. Have you heard of Aleksandr Pushkin's 'The Little Bird'?"

"…Is that another one of your nicknames for me?"

Ivan smiled fondly. "Nyet. Pushkin is a very famous Russian poet, and he wrote a poem titled 'The Little Bird.'" The demon reclined on the bed. Alfred settled by his side, and Ivan wrapped an arm around his consort's waist, pulling him closer. "It goes like this:

_Here in a foreign land_

_I perform an ancient rite:_

_I free a bird from my hand_

_in Spring's cascading light…._ "

* * *

"Are you sure, Alfred?" Ivan's brow was furrowed in worry. "This sounds very draining."

Standing next to him on the grassy knoll in the cemetery, Alfred grinned. "I'll be fine, Vanya," he chirped. "I've done this loads of times before, I just get a little woozy. Here, can you hold my glasses? And, oh, do you mind…?"

Ivan wordlessly took the glasses that Alfred handed him in one hand, tapping the golden bracelets with the other. The enchanted bands expanded.

Alfred slid them off and tucked them away. "Thanks! You can put them back on after I'm done." The angel suddenly looked uncertain. "I think it'll work here… I don't see why it wouldn't. It won't bring them back, but maybe it'll help some of them find peace. I've never tried it in the Underworld before." He shook his head. "Well, you won't know 'til you try!"

Lifting his hands to the night sky, Alfred closed his eyes and started to chant in the ancient angelic tongue, a musical, lilting language whose every syllable seeped with celestial magic.

Ivan watched, mesmerized, as a white light gathered in the golden blond's palms, taking on the form of a flickering flame. The chanting grew louder—a vortex of divine wind engulfed Alfred's figure, whipped at his hair—the flame arced upwards, roaring, sending out sparks that fizzled out on the nearby graves.

This was the ritual, then. Alfred had said that it was an angelic tradition performed by generals after battles, so that the souls of the deceased soldiers would be able to find their way into their next life.

Alfred hadn't mentioned that it would be so _beautiful_.

Swallowing, Ivan blinked back tears. Dancing tendrils of gold were infusing with the blue-white light. A breeze—scented with cardamom and apricots—rustled through the grass, then golden lights were rising from the ground, little radiant lanterns in the velvet dark.

Hushed whispers thickened the air, and Ivan could not tell whether they were from the local demons who had caught sight of the curious phenomenon and pushed aside their fears to spectate, or from the fluttering, moth-like souls.

The lights dipped and bobbed, drawing ever closer to the source of all the light, to Alfred. The passage of time lost meaning among the sea of descending stars.

Gradually, the lights dimmed. The vibrancy faded from the lanterns, which paled to a translucent yellow before dissipating in glowing threads. Alfred's flame died down; the vortex surrounding him vanished, and Alfred swayed where he stood. In two long strides, Ivan was there, supporting his consort.

"Come here, Fedya." Ivan scooped the angel up into his arms and carried him to the carriage.

By the time that the carriage started to move, the crowd had quietly dispersed, Alfred's breath was no longer shallow, and his enchanted cuffs were secured. Ivan handed Alfred's glasses to him, wound the blue-and-silver wool scarf that Katyusha made snugly around the angel's neck, and moved to the other side of the carriage. 

Sitting opposite Ivan, the former Light general cocked his head as he played with the ends of the scarf.

"Why did you want me? After that night in Francis' palace."

"You are very beautiful, dorogoy."

Alfred frowned. "Ivan…"

The demon leaned back in his seat. "I wanted to crush you. I wanted to see those blue eyes of yours dulled, and I wanted you to lay broken at my feet. I wanted your submission. I wanted to parade you around the city as my war trophy, so that all the demons would know that I had triumphed, that _I_ had won at last, having conquered the most fearsome of the Light generals—"

Alfred rose and crossed to the other side of the carriage in a single graceful movement. He perched on the demon's lap, draped Ivan's arm over his hip. He leaned up. Rose-petal lips brushed Ivan's ear; one hand caressed a curling horn.

"Tell me the truth, master?" The angel murmured sweetly.

Ivan rubbed small circles on Alfred's waist with his thumb.

"You smelled like home. I had been away for so long, and the battlegrounds were so cold. You were so warm, lapochka. In the candlelight, you glowed like the sun. It had been so long since I felt the sun's warmth."

Alfred nuzzled against Ivan's jaw.

"Do you still think that I'm like the sun?"

"No," the Dark general said. "Now I _know_ that you are the sun, solnyshko. My little sun."

Alfred sighed. "You're such a sap, Ivan." Smiling faintly, he pressed a kiss to the jet-black horn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ivan recites half of pushkin's "the little bird." it's a lovely poem about finding freedom through carrying out an old tradition in a foreign land
> 
> the next arc gets really, really dark. in case you haven't noticed already, alfred absolutely will not engage in productive conversations unless he is pushed to. and since the next arc deals with issues of consent...


	11. Counterpart I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor arrives at the castle on Ivan's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: dubious consent, 2p!russia being mean

The door banged open, and the scent of cardamom and apricots swept into Ivan's office.

"Hello, Fredka," Ivan said without looking up. He rifled through the stack of paperwork on his desk.

"Ivan, why the _fuck_ did you put three kids in the dungeons?"

"They're not kids," Ivan said absently as he signed off on a report. "They're of age. I checked."

Alfred hissed in annoyance. "Don't play games with me, Braginsky. You know what I mean."

Ivan did. The prisoners looked young, and were, in comparison to him and Alfred, with only a few decades under their belts.

Time passed differently for magical beings, and the angelic glamour and demonic illusion didn't hurt. Alfred looked young, too—in his early twenties—but Ivan knew that he had been alive for two centuries, almost three. Alfred was startlingly young for a general, perhaps the youngest in magical history. Ivan himself had existed for much longer, although he appeared only a few years older than Alfred.

His consort was standing next to the oak desk, hands planted on his hips.

"I gave them some money and let them go."

Ivan glanced up at that. "What?"

"They said that you brought them in for soliciting."

"That is correct." Unorganized prostitution was illegal in the Underworld. Brothels, escort agencies, and independent courtesans were permitted so long as they kept to the strict standards and regulations that Francis decreed.

"It's bullshit," Alfred said matter-of-factly. "They were just trying to make a living. Not their choice to have to turn to sex work."

Ivan reclined back in the leather chair and brought a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. " _Alfred..."_

"What, am I not enough for you? You need to get streetwalkers now?"

Ivan sighed. "That's not it." Alfred was purposefully trying to goad him on. The angel was more upset about the arrest than Ivan's reasons.

"Then what _is_ it?"

Ivan glanced at the clock. No, there wasn't time to go out and find someone else. He had been trying to prevent such a scenario, but it seemed inevitable at this point.

With any luck, Alfred would survive the ordeal.

"Never mind, lapochka," Ivan said gently. "I will see you later. I must be back to work."

The former Light general threw Ivan a dirty look and left, slamming the door behind him so hard that the hinges rattled.

* * *

"Dorogoy, would you like to visit Katyusha tomorrow? You can leave early in the morning, so you can get there before dark." Ivan stroked a gold-edged feather. Alfred's frosty demeanor had fortunately thawed somewhat as the evening went on—he hadn't rejected Ivan's advances, and was now lying next to the platinum blond in bed, radiating warmth like a little furnace.

Alfred twitched his wing away. "Didn't we just get back from her place a week ago? And isn't it your birthday tomorrow?" The angel turned slightly to peer at Ivan with a sapphire eye. "Also, I'm still mad at you."

"Da, da, Fredka. Again, I apologize. Are you sure that you don't want to spend some time in the countryside again? I do not mind if we celebrate later."

Alfred flopped over to fully face Ivan. He squinted at the demon suspiciously. "Are you trying to get me out of the picture so you can hire hookers for your birthday? Because you don't have to lie to me about that, I get it. For the record, though, I'm pretty sure I can do better than whatever you find at the local brothel, or those streetwalkers from earlier—"

"Nyet, it's nothing like that." Ivan threaded his fingers in Alfred's hair. "You are more than enough, solnyshko. It's just… my birthdays do not tend to go well."

Alfred propped his chin up on a pillow, any indignation he felt having been replaced by curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Things usually get a little out of control." Ivan gestured vaguely with the other hand, a helpless expression on his face. "It is difficult for me to explain. I do not want you to be hurt."

"Really, Ivan? You think that I can't deal with a little bad birthday juju?" Alfred snickered. Ivan got worried over the silliest things. "You're funny, dude. I promise—no, I _guarantee—_ that everything will be fine. Great, even. I'll make sure it's a birthday you won't forget." He winked at the platinum blond.

Ivan gave his consort a strained smile. Alfred had an infectious cheer. He prayed that the angel would retain some of it after tomorrow.

* * *

Alfred awoke to the murmur of low voices. He blinked blearily, fumbled on his glasses, looked at the scene before him, and closed his eyes.

He counted to ten inside his head and opened them again.

The tall demon with black hair, red eyes, and Ivan's face was still there.

He rubbed at his eyes to make sure that he wasn't dreaming.

Nope, definitely two Ivans standing at the foot of the bed, dressed similarly in the regulation uniform. They had stopped talking when they noticed that Alfred was awake.

"What," Alfred said flatly. "Braginsky, you bastard, did you slip a potion into my lemon tea last night? I _knew_ something tasted off."

Normal Ivan looked tired. The other, darker Ivan looked _gleeful_. "No, dorogoy. This is not a hallucination, regrettably." He waved a hand at the demon standing at his side. "This is Viktor. He is my… ah, how do I put it?" The platinum blond dragged a hand down his face. "Alter ego, I suppose. He is an embodiment of my more negative emotions. An old curse from when I was a child. Viktor physically manifests in this realm once a year, on my birthday."

Alfred stared at him blankly, then pulled the sheets over his head and burrowed back into the bed. "Nope. Not dealing with this shit. Wake me up for hot birthday sex when your angry twin's gone."

The sound of a loud snap filled the room. Alfred yelped as the chains on his enchanted bands jerked his arms above his head, restraining him to the headboard. "What are you—"

"Privyet, little angel. I think I will collect now, thank you," the red-eyed Ivan— _Viktor—_ purred as he settled on the edge of the bed. He grasped Alfred's chin, and the former Light general shivered. Viktor was _freezing_ , much colder than Ivan.

"So the weakling finally got himself another bedwarmer," Viktor's face split into a malicious grin as he examined the golden blond, "and, my, what a _delectable_ little morsel you are." His hand crept under the covers to grope Alfred's thigh.

The angel kicked at him. "Get away from me, you asshole! _Ivan—"_

" _Stop_ , Viktor." Ivan shoved the black-haired demon from the bed. He vanished the golden chains and protectively blocked Alfred from Viktor's view. "Don't touch him."

Viktor chuckled lowly. "The angel is your consort, da? Since I _am_ you, I believe that I have rights to him as well." He drew a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket, plucked one out, and lit it with a match from another pocket. He took a leisurely drag, blew out a cloud of smoke from the corner of his mouth. His thin lips twisted into a sneer. "No matter. It is just as well if you do not want him to be a distraction for me. I will go and amuse myself with your soldiers."

The red-eyed demon tapped the cigarette. Ash fell in a small heap to the hardwood floor. "They cannot defy a direct command from me. Which village under your jurisdiction shall I raid this time, hm? Or maybe I should try something new, order your men to ransack a city… The city folk never quite anticipate it, do they? Their reactions would be entertaining, I'm sure. It does get _so_ boring around here."

Ivan stiffened. But before he could open his mouth to protest, Alfred was leaning out from behind him, cerulean eyes blazing with fury. "How _dare_ you," the angel seethed. "You're a monster if terrorizing civilians is your idea of fun. They're innocent. They don't deserve it."

Alfred jutted out his chin and crossed his arms. "You can do whatever you want to me, bastard. I'm not scared of you. Just stay away from Ivan's troops."

"Offer accepted, little angel," Viktor licked his lips, eyes glinting with malice and hunger. "You look _ravishing_."

"Fredka," Ivan put a hand on his consort's arm. "You do not know what you are getting yourself into. It is fine, I will deal with it."

Alfred shook the demon's hand off. "No, I can handle it, Vanya." He smiled at Ivan reassuringly. "He's just you, right? Besides, I don't trust that asshole out of my sight."

"Well, would you look at that?" Viktor blew out another cloud of smoke. "Your little bitch is braver than you. I would say I am surprised, but we both know that is a lie. You have always been pathetic. Why don't you scurry along, _Vanya_ , and leave the angel and me to get, ah, acquainted."

"Hey, don't talk about Ivan like that!" Tugging on Ivan's nightshirt, Alfred hopped off of the bed. He stalked up to Viktor and jabbed a finger in the demon's face. "He's twice the man that you are. He's not a big bully, and his soldiers respect him because of who he is, not because of some cheap tactics against defenseless civilians, and—"

"Fedya—"

"Ivan, I told you, I'll be _fine_." Alfred whirled around. "I need to give this fucker a piece of my mind. And it's time for you to go to work. Don't you have a meeting starting soon? You should go."

Ivan carded a hand through his hair. Alfred was incredibly stubborn; there was no swaying his consort when he was like this. Anyway, Alfred was right, there was an important military meeting coming up. Leaving his consort alone with Viktor like this, though…

"Alfred, I give you permission to defend yourself. Do whatever you need to do." The platinum blond grabbed Alfred's wrists and removed the bracelets in one fluid movement. He slipped the gold bands into his coat pockets. "Please stay safe, lapochka. I will be back as soon as I can."

Alfred nodded, but it was clear that he wasn't listening. His attention was focused solely on Viktor.

Ivan sent a warning glare at Viktor— _don't hurt him—_ and left the suite.

The door closed; Viktor dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it under his heel.

"Oh, little angel, you have no idea what I am going to do to you." A savage smirk spread across the demon's face.

"If you want a piece of this, you ugly bastard," Alfred taunted, "you'll have to come and get it." The former Light general's pupils glowed white as celestial magic gathered in his palms.

* * *

Ivan hurried through the hallway. The military meeting had just concluded, after dragging on for most of the day—there were rumors that there was another angel general, one who was apparently so apt at concealment that none of the Dark forces even had an inkling of his existence until a few days ago. Kirkland was being tight-lipped about the whole affair. Francis had asked Ivan to interrogate Alfred, but Alfred—

Ivan entered his suite, and his heart skipped a beat. The door to the master bedroom was wide open.

There was no one inside.

Swearing under his breath, Ivan rang the bell for Toris. He paced about the room as he waited for the brunet.

The Head Housekeeper arrived after a few minutes, shaking in fear. "Oh, it's you, Master Braginsky." Toris visibly sagged in relief. "Your, um, counterpart was here a few hours ago."

"Did you see where he went? Where is Alfred?"

"The other Master Braginsky asked me to bring lunch to a room in the guest wing. I believe they are still there—none of the servants have mentioned seeing him around."

"Show me where they are," Ivan demanded.

"Y-yes, right away, Master Braginsky."

* * *

Toris had nervously pointed out a door before disappearing. When Ivan wrenched it open—there had been ice crusting the lock—the room was empty. Ivan ran his gaze around the room, taking in the char marks on the walls, the ripped curtains and ruined upholstery. Was that _blood_ on the carpet, amid the stain of cigarette ashes? Eyes wide, the Dark general staggered back. _Alfred—_

"Oh, back, are you." A monotone voice sounded behind him.

Ivan turned; Viktor was leaning against a closed door a few meters away, on the other side of the hallway. There was a sheet tied loosely about his waist, right below a nasty burn. His chest and torso were covered in bruises and other, fainter burns. As Ivan watched, the red-eyed demon brought his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled. "About time. I was starting to get bored."

Ivan snarled. " _What have you done with Alfred_."

Viktor gave a half-shrug. He exhaled a stream of smoke. "He is resting. I wore him out. Very feisty. Did not go down without a fight. Of course," Viktor smiled unpleasantly, "the fight he put up was considerably less impressive once I informed him that all of the injures I sustained would be passed on to your body tomorrow."

Viktor unlocked the door and inclined his head. "Care to join?" He turned around. There were bleeding fingernail gouges along the pale expanse of his back.

Scowling, Ivan followed the other demon into the guest chambers.

The room was dark—the curtains were tightly drawn across the large windows. On the bed, Ivan could make out an unmoving lump.

"Alfred," he gasped. In a few strides, the platinum blond was at his consort's side. He carefully flipped Alfred face-up. Ivan's eyes widened. "What…?" The angel was blindfolded and gagged, his wrists cruelly bound together by a rough length of rope. Vicious bite marks littered his skin. "What is the meaning of this, Viktor?" Ivan hissed.

Viktor sauntered to the bed. He flicked the butt of his cigarette into an ashtray on the nightstand.

"Would you believe he wanted it? Said that it felt too much like cheating on you otherwise." Viktor lit another cigarette. "Well, something like that. He said he didn't want to see my 'hideous mug,' and that he would moan your name instead of mine when he came. So I blindfolded him, and ensured the second point would not become an issue." Viktor gestured with the cigarette, and Ivan noticed the strip of silk wrapped around the base of Alfred's cock for the first time. "He did ask for the earplugs, though. My voice is 'too grating' for your consort's delicate ears. The little bitch is whiny, but a good fuck, I'll give him that. Didn't want me to fuck him on your bed, so here we are."

Ivan cradled Alfred's head in his lap and smoothed back the sweat-slicked hair. "Oh, Fredka…"

"He is too good for you," Viktor said impassively. "You do not deserve him."

Ivan's hand clenched into a fist. "I know."

"Do you think he will still want to stay with you after this?"

Ivan's nostrils flared. The temperature dropped.

Viktor held up a placating hand. "A mere rhetorical question _."_ He took a drag on the cigarette. "Of course he would not. None of your past lovers stayed.

"Poor Vanya," Viktor mocked. "So cold, so _big_ , so scary. No one ever wanted to sleep with you. No one ever wanted to stay with you for longer than a year. Even shorter, once they met me—colder, bigger, scarier... But I'm you, am I not?"

"I will kill you, Viktor."

A wide grin stretched across the red-eyed demon's face. "I'm you," he repeated. "And we both know that you can't. All of the power that you used in the past year is concentrated in me twofold today, and, my, Ivan, you have used an awful lot of your magic this year."

Viktor studied his hand, humming. "Da, I do believe that I can freeze your entire body in just three seconds. Shattering you will take even less. So we will both die. It is of no consequence. Everything is _so_ dull already."

The black-haired demon suddenly looked pleased, as if he had been struck by an idea. "I know what will make this less boring. Play with me and the angel, Ivan." His red eyes glowed with an unnatural light. "It will be fun to see how he reacts."

Ivan gaped at him. "You cannot be serious."

"I will be nice and give you a choice, _Vanya._ Play with me and the angel, or I will freeze you and let you watch as I play with him myself. He's had a long day... I wonder how much more he can take."

An intrigued expression came across Viktor's face.

"I've never fucked someone to death before. Although I did come close, that one time... Didn't one of your bedmates kill himself after spending the night with me? He actually liked your dick, too. Been a while, now. The little angel doesn't know, does he? Do you think I should tell him? He probably—"

"Enough. Please stop, Viktor." Ivan's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I will join in this sick game of yours, but you must promise to leave Alfred alone afterwards." He glared at the other demon, hatred burning in his violet eyes. "You will not touch him again, and you will not cause trouble for either of us during the rest of your time in this realm."

Viktor ground his cigarette to dying embers in the ashtray. "Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> golly, viktor is such a dick. 
> 
> also, imma stop posting updates on tumblr, for the 2 of y'all who care. feel free to drop asks, though.


End file.
